Yeah, I should have known better.
I had just pulled away from the curb on a street that shares an exit from the 405 freeway. There’s a good reason to gun it–if you don’t, you may get rear-ended by someone coming off the freeway.
As I proceeded southbound, I don’t know what hit me. Maybe I was passing a car; maybe one was quickly approaching me from behind. Whatever my reason, I stepped on it and zipped through the intersection. No biggie, right?
At the next intersection, I got in the left turn lane and waited for traffic to pass. The Metro Blue Line crosses the street I was turning onto so naturally traffic gets backed up. The guy in front of me was on his phone and failed to notice that the light had been red for at least five seconds when he made the turn, blocking opposing traffic. It was then that I noticed the helmet of a CHP officer behind me.
The light changed and I turned. As soon as I did, here come the flashing red and blue LED lights in my mirror. Aw sh…
Now I’ve been pulled over in the past and they’ve all been rather uneventful. In fact, there seems to be some sort of protocol to it: greet the driver, explain why they were pulled over, ask for license, run it, ask for registration and insurance, issue citiation, and you’re on your way. Ha, not this time.
I pull over, turn off the Explorer and before I know it, Mr. Nazi Boots is standing at my door. Without even telling me why he pulled me over, he asks for my license. I comply.
“When you went through the intersection of Blah and Blah, I estimated your speed between 50 and 55. It’s rush hour and you’re speeding through the intersection. Do you know what the speed limit is there? Why are you driving so fast? DIESES IST NICHT DER AUTOBAHN!” Okay, so I embellished a little bit there.
I coughed. I do have a cold and sound nasally.
“I guess I’m just in a *cough* hurry to *cough* get home.” He continued on about my speed while I coughed and nodded. “You got me. I was speeding.” He then asks for my registration and insurance. Once again, I comply.
“When’s the last time you got a ticket,” he asked. Now, my first inclination was to tell Mr. Nazi Boots to walk his ass over to his Kawasaki and run my license, and that would tell him everything he needed to know. After all, rollers usually have SCMODS.
Instead, I gave him a lecture.
“It was about 7 years ago. Southbound on I-15 in Nevada, Mile Marker 1 at Stateline.” And that’s no bullshit. It really was.
He glared at me, never ran my license, and only glanced at my registration and proof of insurance. And with that, Mr. Nazi Boots let me off with a warning to slow it down. I thanked him.
But it all seemed really odd. It was as if Colonel Klink was pressing for more information and was getting pissed off that he wasn’t getting any. After all, I was complying and answering all of his questions. Maybe he was trying to push my buttons and wait for me to go off on him so he could have a real reason to possibly search my vehicle or even detain me. Or maybe, just maybe, the sight of a Hispanic male driving a new Explorer got his attention and he had to investigate.
Or maybe he was upset about Anna Nicole Smith dying today.
Bah, but I digress. Whatever the reason and even though he let me go, he was a real dick. I usually have some respect for those who protect the public from harm but c’mon, speeding through an intersection is not the Crime of the Century. Besides, the light was green.
And let’s face it, not all police officers are arrogant asses. But it’s guys like this that, unfortunately, give the rest of the force a bad reputation.