Every night when I was about 5 years old, my mom would put my older sister and brother to bed, fix me a bowl of chocolate ice cream or a glass of chocolate milk, and bring me to my dad in his recliner. It was here, for the 30-45 minutes I was able to keep my eyes open, where I became a full-on daddy's girl who loved Alfred Hitchcock, Dragnet, Andy Griffith and chocolate. Being that my dad thinks most cops are underpaid losers with big egos, the characters on these shows are the only cops and detectives he admires. These are the guys every other wannabe cop should strive to be.
My dad has a way with cops. He was a "bad kid" growing up... so he's had his experiences. I remember hearing a story of him getting pulled over for drinking and driving. The cop asked him to say his ABC's backwards and he replied, "I couldn't do that if I was sober!"
His experiences have lead to a life full of stories of what not to do with cops.
This past Thursday, I had a little run in with the law myself. Dad would have be proud of me, but not so much J. Men in uniform make J fold like a lawn chair.
*"The story you are about to read is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent."
J and I were headed to Charleston for a visit with Bri and W. Bri and I were SUPPOSED to play Bunko. I was pumped. Prepped with my bathing suit and a bottle of wine… I was ready to whop some 60-year-old booties.
J waited until 5pm to express that he wanted to go to Charleston as well. He tried to pack fast, but we left late. After putting gas in the car and air in the tire… we were pretty far behind schedule. So I started speeding as soon as we got onto the interstate.
While I was speeding, I said a quick prayer…”Dear Jesus, please keep J and I safe while I’m going 90mph down this very curvy interstate, Thanks.”
As soon as the prayer came out of my mouth I thought, Big guy’s probably thinking… slow your roll white girl and save me the trouble of having to protect you. (Sometimes I picture Jesus as Samuel L. Jackson) So I did. A little.
Then, Out of NOWHERE I saw the lights that are sure to ruin any one's day.
The red, white, and blue lights attached to the top of a cop car. The lights that should mean freedom, but really mean… You’re about to get treated like a two year old by a loser in Oakley sunglasses. I sure do miss the sexy aviators.
I pull over. Realizing I’m going to miss out on Bunko with the ladies, and wishing I would have said a prayer about no tickets as well.
I waited for a second in the car. Then, proceeded to get out of the car (I swear people in Louisiana do this).
From this point on, we will call the cop Bob. I’d like to use the nickname for Richard, but that may be a little too harsh… since I was indeed breaking the law.
So Bob yells, “CAN I HELP YOU!?”
“Ummm…you just pulled me over.”
“GET BACK IN YOUR VEHICLE!”
Yikes, everything my dad said about cops is true. They are nothing like Andy Griffith.
He walks over to my car.
“What were you doing out of your vehicle!?”
“I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to do that. People get out of their cars in Louisiana.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard!” “You could have gotten shot.”
This is where I realize that the generalization of cops being jerks is probably accurate, Bob is trigger-happy, and moving to West Virginia could have caused me to die by gunshot on the side of I64.
“I’m sorry.” (remembering that dad said to always be submissive)
“Do you know why I pulled you over?"
I wanted to say, “I sure do, Bob. It’s because you were parked at the bottom of a mountain (in a very good hiding spot), and you caught me coasting at 88mph. I’d hate to have to play you in a game of hide and seek.” But I kept that to myself.
“Because I clocked you going 88mph just back there. License and registration.”
I fumble through my paperwork freaking out and shaking because Bob and his Oakleys are quite intimidating, and I'm 99% sure he's still mad about not getting the chance to shoot me.
That’s when he says, “Calm down, sweetie.”
SWEETIE?! You just told me you could have shot me! I’m not really ready for “SWEETIE”. At least stop writing my ticket before you try to butter me up with a term of endearment!
Bob gets my paperwork and heads back to his vehicle to continue writing my ticket. While I wait, I think about the last ticket J got for going 5 miles over the speed limit. When the cop handed J his ticket, He replied, “Thank you sir”. I remembered not to do that. Dad would never say thank you to a wannabe.
I will pay my ticket, I will not argue, I will not be disrespectful, but I WILL NOT say “thank you” to a man who has clearly never watch an episode of Andy Griffith.
Andy Griffith Source
Andy Griffith Source
Bob comes back to my window.
“Sign here. Since you are from out of state you can call this number and pay over the phone.”
I grab the ticket and nod. I WILL NOT SAY THANK YOU, WANNABE.
J pipes up, “Thank you, sir.”
HERE I AM TRYING TO ACT LIKE A BAD A, AND J GOES AND THANKS BOB FOR THREATENING TO SHOOT HIS WIFE. (maybe that's a bit dramatic)
I get over it rather quickly, because I think bob brought me one step further away from lame. I mean, by the time I'm 50 this story could easily be remembered as the time Bob had a gun pointed to my head and I had to wrestle him down with my self defense skills. THAT'S DEFINITELY COOL.