This is a story of victimization…
I was in a good mood. Things were going okay. I had just paid all my monthly bills and had that rare feeling of having the world temporarily removed from my shoulders. I have weekend job, one I’ve had since the time I was still in school. It’s not a bad job, it’s just that it’s only for three days a week, and since I can’t find a job full time it’s really the only thing getting me by. I make ends meet. Which is all I really need to do at this point. I was driving to a friend’s house when it happened. Behind me I saw flashing lights, my heart sunk into my stomach. It’s always the same feeling no matter who you are and where you are, the lights shock you at first. They seem to come out of nowhere yet you know they must have been behind you for a while. I pull over my car and wait for the officer to approach. I turn off my music, out of respect. I put my hands on the wheel. I open my window. He walks over; he’s younger than me, maybe 21, 22 years old. Blonde hair.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” He asks.
The truth is I really didn’t know, and I didn’t want to guess so I told him I didn’t know.
His eyes light up, he sees his opportunity.
“You don’t know why, really?” He can barely contain his smile. He’s enjoying it so much. I look at both officers, the one who’s talking to me, and the one of the other side of the car, silently looking at me with a flashlight shined into my car.
“I don’t know, was I speeding?” I ask.
“You don’t know why I pulled you over?” He repeats again.
“Listen guys I really don’t know, just tell me why.” I say with frustration.
This is what makes him mad, my command: “just tell me why”. The 21-year-old cop doesn’t like being told to do things.
“This guy thinks we’re joking around. GIVE ME YOUR LICENSE AND REGISTRATION!” He shouts, like a master yelling at his dog.
I give him my driver’s license and registration. He tells me I didn’t make a complete stop at a stop sign. I honestly had no idea.
“You think we have time to play around?” He asks as he looks over my license.
“Can’t you be nicer, lets just do this politely.” I say knowing I’m defeated.
Both cops laugh. They walk back and get into their car to process me. This part always seems to take forever. Sitting. Waiting.
Even though I’m already pulled over, the lights of their car keep flashing. Red, white and blue lights of “justice” spinning around in circles over everything, illuminating the night. Cars pass by slowly to look at me; people look out their windows to see what the story is. I am on display, center stage. The villain in a play called western civilization. I realize this isn’t about me; it’s not even about the cops. It’s about those people in the windows, the people living their lives. They need a little show now and again, to let them know that they’re safe, and that they can trust their government to protect them.
I’m given my ticket for running a stop sign.
It is a $40 charge.
But there is a $60 surcharge.
And now they’ve just instated a new “extra” charge of $20.
120 dollars for not making a complete stop at a stop sign. With the added bonus of being laughed at. 120 is a lot of money when you’re just getting by, it’s a big crowbar in my financial plans. This month is going to be hard to make ends meet.