--During my ridiculous life I haven’t had too many serious
encounters with cops.When I was a youngling I got into my share of trouble throwing
snowballs at cars and letting off firecrackers in department stores,
and that sort of thing.But as an adult, I’ve been pretty lucky.
Well, perhaps I should rephrase that…As an adult before I left West
Virginia,
I was lucky.During those years I was a DUI waiting to happen, I’m not
proud to admit.After that though, luck didn’t have much to do with it.I just behaved myself for the most part, and the boys in blue
left me alone.It’s funny how that works.
Today I’d like to briefly describe the five most memorable
Encounters with Cops I’ve experienced so far, and ask for your
stories at the end.Sound good?OK, let’s get started…
--When I was in high school, or shortly thereafter, I was driving
through my hometown one night at 2
am
or
thereabouts, with Bill and Steve in the car.We’d had a few of the Foster’s oil cans, or something
similar, and a cop pulled me over in front of Keller’s Funeral Home.
It was a policewoman, and she knew me somehow.(Ahem)She said, “You took that corner back there pretty wide,
didn’t you, Mister Kay?”And I said, “Well, I was trying not to spill my beer.”
Steve and Bill just about swallowed their tongues, but I wasn’t
being sarcastic.I was seriously trying not to spill my beer.But the officer didn’t appreciate my honesty, and ordered me
out of the car.
She shined a flashlight into my Nova, and saw beer cans piled up in
the floor behind the passenger seat.She made a comment about it, and I explained that most of those
were “yesterday’s.”Again, I was being completely forthright with her, but she
accused me of being sarcastic, and “mouthy.”
And I believe that’s the only time in my life I was required to do
the Stupid Human Tricks.She had me walk a straight line, touch my nose, and all the old
standbys.It wasn’t as bad as this,
but pretty damn involved.
While this was happening, Bill was standing on the sidelines shouting
encouragement:
C’mon Jeff, you can do it!It’s easy!!
And the cop yelled, “Shut up, Billy!”Because, of course, she knew him too.(Ahem)
I guess I did OK, I always do well on tests, and she let us go.But there were no happy endings to this story, none whatsoever.Because, you see, my Dad, who was a city fireman, got a full
report the next morning.With all the details, including quotes and possibly
illustrations.
Like I say, no happy endings.
--A couple of years earlier Bill and I were out stealing campaign
signs, and putting them in our friends’ front yards.We placed a gigantic one in front of Tim’s house, roughly the
size of an interstate billboard, and about a dozen smaller versions in
Rocky’s yard.
By the time we were finished, it appeared that Rocky’s family was
REALLY into politics.Sometimes supporting
every person running for a particular
office.Heh.
We were having a great time and, once again, I believe beer was
involved.But we pushed our luck a little too far.As so often happens…
They caught us running across a vacant lot, behind the old Sloan’s
Department Store, with huge signboards hoisted above our heads.We probably looked like hang gliding enthusiasts, right before
going airborne.It was a whole group of cops, and they told us to sit on the
curb and shut the hell up.
Apparently the candidates believed their opponents were responsible
for stealing the signs, and Bill and I had unknowingly touched off a
political war.The officers got on their walkie-talkies and were having
conversations with people about it, and we were certain we’d gotten
ourselves into Big Trouble.
Plus, we’d had a few beers.And that didn’t help anything.If they smelled it, or suspected it, we’d only be compounding
our problems.
So we ate grass.I don’t remember whose idea it was, but we both put handfuls
of grass in our mouths, while the cops mumbled into their walkies,
trying to mask the smell of Budweiser.
Yeah, and then nothing happened.They just told us to put the signs back where we’d found them
(except for one specifically, which they said we could lean against a
dumpster!?), and sent us on our way with a stern warning.
We’d eaten grass prematurely, and unnecessarily.And that’s the first time I’ve ever typed that sentence…
--After I’d moved to Atlanta,
I was driving back from visiting my parents in Charlotte,
and stopped to eat lunch somewhere in South
Carolina.
I was off an exit in some terrible town, getting all turned around and
almost lost, when flashing lights appeared in my rear view mirror.Oh shit.
The officer was an older black man, and he took his time emerging from
the cruiser.I don’t know if he was running my plates, or just making me
sweat. But
he allowed me to sit there stewing in my own natural juices, before
sauntering up to my window.
And he said, “Excuse me, sir.I noticed that your car has Georgiaplates.And seeing as how different states sometimes have different
laws, I was curious about something…In Georgia,
when you see a sign that says No U-Turns, does that mean just go ahead
and make a u-turn?”
After he allowed me to go, I was able to appreciate the man’s
comedic talents.While it was happening?Not so much.
--During the early pre-Toney Atlantayears, I had no money.I worked two jobs, but barely had enough cash to pay my rent
and bar tab.So certain things got pushed to the backburner.Like, for instance, car insurance, registration, emissions
tests, inspections, etc.
But, luckily for me, cops in that city have a lot on their plates.Some douche with an expired tag on his car isn’t exactly a
high priority.I knew this, and exploited it for a good long time.
Then my luck ran out.
I was driving to work one morning, and got pulled over a half mile or
so from the office.The cop asked for the standard documents, and everything was
expired.In fact, I believe I still had a North
Carolinadriver’s license, even though I’d been in
Georgiafor over a year.And it was expired.
The guy was not amused.In fact, he was pissed.He ordered me out of the car, and got right up in my face like
a drill sergeant.He said, “YOU’RE GOING TO JAIL!!”
He was ranting and raving, and pacing and cursing.He kept getting into the police car, talking into a microphone,
and getting out again.He told me he was going to impound my vehicle, and take me to
the “Jefferson Street Jail,” wherever that is.
And while all this was going on, people from my job were driving past.Some honked their horns, and everybody was laughing and waving.I thought I was surely on the verge of a catastrophic sphincter
collapse.
Then suddenly the guy changed his tune.He instantly calmed down, like some kind of Jekyll/Hyde
situation, and told me he was going to let me go.But, he warned, he patrols this stretch of road (Fulton
Industrial Boulevard)
every day, and if he ever catches me again, he’ll personally escort
me to a jail cell.
Twenty-four hours later my paperwork was in order.
-- And finally… after I moved to
Californiait took me a while to adjust to a place where speed limit laws are
actually enforced.Who knew?In Atlanta,
it’s just wide open.
So,
needless to say, I received a speeding ticket almost immediately.OnSoledad
Canyon Road,
in Santa Clarita.
It cost me a metric shitload of money, and two points on my driving
record -- which would probably increase my insurance costs, as well.
Unless, they said, I agreed to take a defensive driving course.If I completed a course, they’d remove the two points.I still had to pay the fine, but my record would be clean.
The state of Californiaapparently issues licenses for private companies to conduct these
so-called courses, they’re not technically handled by a state
agency.So there’s competition between the companies, vying for
business.
And this has led to some really bizarre shit.There are driving classes taught by comedians, magicians,
jugglers, etc.They all have some sort of hook, in an attempt to seem
“fun” and unique.
The class I signed up for was led by a guy who talked like Jimmy
Stewart and Johnny Carson, and that sort of thing.He still had to cover the required information, but it was all
done in the voices of famous people.So we sat there and listened to “Humphrey Bogart” talk
about merging onto a freeway, and whatnot.
This lasted for three nights, and was held in the backroom of a
hamburger restaurant in Saugus.And it was one of the more surreal experiences of my life, to
date.
