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There Aint No Justice 119
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #12x |
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- Thank You, Officer -
by Milo Bloom
The following events took place on my way home from an RPG session.
I left my pal Tony's at about 12:15 in the morning. Since I'm slightly
paranoid, and it is, as I've said, 12:15 a.m., I'm driving extra carefully,
and I have my eyes out for anything out of the ordinary. I haven't been out
this late in about six months. The highway I have to take to get up to my
house is dark, very much so, during one long stretch. This stretch rather
unfortunately crosses the county line.
I pass the county line, and I see a car coming from the direction I'm
headed slow down and make a U-turn to the northbound lanes. I pass as he
completes the turn. I'm sitting comfortably in the right lane, and as he
establishes his position in the left, his lights hit my rearview and damn near
blind me. I'm pretty bad with driving at night at the best of times, and these
lights seem like searchlights after I've been driving in the dark for the past
mile.
I try to slow down a little so the motherfucker will pass me. He doesn't.
I slow down to 50. He slows down to 50. Hmm. I slow WAY down to 40, and he
does the same thing. I figure by now that my new best friend in the other
vehicle cannot be a cop, since cops typically pass me when I slow that much.
My paranoid mind starts racing - what the fuck is going on here? I decide that
this guy is a fucking nutcase and out to have a little early-morning fun with
other drivers.
I speed back up to 55, then to 60. I get into the left lane, way ahead of
time to be able to make the left turn I need to up ahead to get home. Now, at
this intersection we're headed towards, there's a gas station for those who
turn right. I briefly consider going to it. Then I have this mental picture of
some middle-aged guy who resembles Charlie Manson scrabbling over to my
vehicle and pounding on the window, grinning madly and screaming "Cheese!
Cheese! I've got the will!" or something similarly nonsensical. I stay in the
left lane.
I drive on, till I'm halfway past the turn lane. Now, I figure, is my
chance. I'll swerve into the turn lane and brake real fast, and let the other
asshole fly past and go, "Hey! How'd he do that?" So, I chuckle, "Bye,
Charlie," and do it.
The car follows me. Red and blue flashes. I say, "Oh, shit."
MY GOOD BUDDY THE ASSHOLE IS A COP.
Surprise, surprise.
The turn light is red. I sit and wait. Now, what did we learn in driver's
ed? Something about not obstructing traffic? Something about not endangering
other drivers? Something like that; fuck, I don't know. Anyway, I thought I
vaguely remembered some shithead babbling something about that in driver's ed;
so when the turn light turned green, I turned, and once clear of the
intersection, I immediately pull over, giving enough space behind me for this
guy's cruiser. Aren't I a thoughtful traffic offender?
He follows eventually, and comes up to my window. The usual "license and
registration" bullshit goes down. He gives them back. He asks me to go back to
his car. Since this has happened to me in Ohio before (and the cop there was a
hell of a lot better a cop than this slug), I don't question it. I guess they
have new preventative measures to make sure they don't get their fucking
worthless heads blown off. Gee, how sad. No more beer wasted on a pig. No more
air that I could be breathing being sucked in by a wheezing, old, fat pig. I
mourn the passing of a pig like I cry over a televangelist being found in a
hotel room with his dick in a hooker's mouth and his boyfriend's tongue up his
ass. Anyway.
On the way back to this cruiser, I do two things: one, ask him what I got
pulled over for. I get no response. Two, I take a look at this guy. He's of
stocky build. He's wearing a pig's uniform, of course. I can only imagine the
pretty lacy things he's got on underneath, and then try to force the thought
out of my head. His eyes hold no intelligence, but they are sharp. They're
sharp like a dog's eyes are. I think he's more dog than man. I am taller than
this cop.
We get in the cruiser. Again I ask what my offense is. Again there is no
answer. Now, I'm starting to get nervous. I'm within bolting distance of my
house, but this son-of-a-bitch has a gun. He radios some shit in to HQ, and
mumbles so I can't understand it. Finally he answers me. "You made two unsafe
lane movements."
Huh?
"One, when you pulled into the left lane without signalling. Two, when
you pulled into the turn lane."
"I didn't know you were a police officer. I thought I was being messed
with by some guy who was out to play car tag."
"Sir, you wanna tell me the truth?"
Huh?!
This goddamn arrogant pig. He plays "Race Car Driver" on a deserted
midwestern highway at 12:30 in the morning, pulls me over, and then has the
cojones to tell me he thinks I'm lying to him. First off, before this small
incident, I had some sort of respect for cops. Being related to one by
marriage tends to soften you up a little to the hardships of the police
officer. If I respect someone, or his position, I'm sure as hell not going to
lie to him. But, being scared and rattled, I can't phrase this. I'm also
stuttering, which of course adds to my credibility in the eyes of this
scumbag.
There's country music on the radio. I'm not surprised. This guy has "good
ol' boy" written all over him. They pulled him off an innocent black guy
outside a redneck bar someplace, took away his brass knuckles, hosed him down,
gave him clothes, taught him how to speak and be understood by the average
American (and not the "averge `merkin"), and taught him how to use a gun.
In one second, I see his whole shift. He drives his car to the gas
station and gets some coffee. Maybe the obligatory donut. He sits there for
awhile, then drives down from there to the county line. He listens to Garth
Brooks all night long. Garth starts to talk to him. Yep, just him. Garth says,
"You gotta get `em all. You gotta track `em ALL down and give `em tickets. You
know what this song's about? It's about unsafe lane movements. Yeah. Tell them
that one, tonight."
He's asking me something. I listen. He says, "Didn't you see me get out
my vehicle at the light? Why did you drive off? I thought you were trying to
get away; I thought I had a drunk driver on my hands." I tell him I was
thinking of the safety of other motorists. He says, "That's my decision. I
decide what's safe for you and everyone else."
Pull over, folks. We've moved into OFFICER FRIENDLY'S WORLD. Here,
Officer Friendly is a deity, and shapes the lives of those around him. He has
the badge to prove it, after all. I figured out what those fucking designs on
cops' badges are for. They're to hide subliminal drawings of the phrase "I AM
GOD." But that's another story. Anyway. I know I'm going to get the ticket. I
cinched it when I drove off at the light and left him standing beside empty
air, looking like an asshole. I pissed him off, and he's going to pay me back
by giving me this ticket.
He hands me the ticket. He tells me how I can get off easy by kissing the
prosecutor's ass and giving him an extra $50. Of course, it's not called
"kissing the prosecutor's ass and giving him an extra $50"; it's called "a
deferral program." He tells me he's sorry he had to give it to me. He tells
me it's just my safety he's working to protect. He's convincing. Dammit, he's
so convincing that even now, as I type, I want to drive over to the gas
station, and wait for him, and say, "Hey, guy. I just wanted to thank you for
giving me a ticket." Then I remember: COPS ARE THE BEST LIARS OF ANYONE IN
THE WORLD. And this guy's probably just a massive asshole.
You know what? Don't even think about it. Just don't. You'll get pissed,
maybe. Maybe you'll laugh. Maybe you'll just say, "Hey, glad it wasn't me."
Maybe you'll say, "You could have had it a hell of a lot worse, Bloom." I
could have, I know. The dumb fucker could have pulled his nightstick out and
clubbed me with it, then shot my ass. And he would have gotten away with it,
too, since he wears a badge. He could just say, "Oh, he attacked me. So, I had
to kick his ass then kill him." He'd live, and I'd be dead, and my sister and
my girlfriend would be really fucked up by that.
All I could think was that I'd tried to follow their fucking laws all my
life, and I got handed a ticket for trying to think of saving my own hide. I
accepted that the world wasn't fair a long time ago, and even though I'm still
young, I don't feel like bitching about it anymore. That was okay when I was
seventeen; at twenty-one, it's a lot less desirable.
You know what? Now I'm thinking of ways to even it all out. I'm thinking
of new and innovative ways to pump lead into people so that I don't have to
deal with their shit. Not just cops. There're other motherfuckers that piss me
off. There's one in particular. I've written about tearing his eyes out and
force-feeding them to him. I've written about ripping his dick off and shoving
it into his mouth. I've written about systematically breaking his bones, one
by one.
I could never do this shit in real life. I could never do any of it. I
could maybe kick someone's ass under extreme duress. (You think Steve Albini
could rip the shit out of anyone he wanted to in real life? Then you explain
Big Black to me. Anyway.) The things I want to do to this other guy could fit
in a whole other article. They are things I will never do.
Probably.
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