26 June 2008

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Austin

I had practice with my tournament softball team last night in Austin; we have a tournament in Dallas coming up. My car has remained up at Fort Parker since the speaking of the Deplorable Word by our landlord, so I was in the Ambermobile.

Around Buda, I saw flashy lights behind me so I moved into the right lane to let the cop go by. Except that he moved over behind me. I had been maintaining a respectable seventy, so I was not stricken with panic or anything, and pulled over.

The cop (Hays County Sheriff) comes up next to the window and peers down at me with his best cop glare. "Do you know why you were pulled over, young lady?"

I HATE being addressed as "young lady." Seriously.

"Not especially," I replied. I handed him my license and insurance. He glares at them, and then at me. I glared back, but he didn't know that because I was wearing my sunnies. The time was about twenty to seven and practice, at Kreig Field, was meant to be at seven. Sigh.

"Are you nervous? You look nervous. You looked at me like you are nervous. Where are you headed?"


"Austin." Duh. "I am not nervous in the least, but I would like to know why you've pulled me over."

"Don't get snippy with me, young lady." ("Young Lady" AGAIN!) "I'm going to need to do a search."

Oh, good Lord.

"Sir, you haven't even established probable cause for pulling me over, much less for searching the car, and I have somewhere to be, so, respectfully, I don't think so."

He continued to examine both my license and insurance, muttering something about my donor sticker, and then looked up, triumphant.

"This is not your car!"

ORLY!?

"No, it's not; it's my fiancée's." He peered down at me with coply disdain. I sighed. He went back to his car, and I sat for the interminable period which always follows the cops walking back to their car. I watched two cars change lanes without signaling and another pass the traffic at a relative speed considerably higher than what I, were I a cop, would consider acceptable. He returned, with a law-enforcement TV swagger.

"This car is registered to an Amber J-----. You said it was your fiancée's." I could hear the "Lies! Damn Lies!" in his inflection.

"Yes, I did. Amber J----- is my fiancée," I replied, somewhat incredulously. I mean, I was on the way to SOFTBALL practice, in Dyke(TM) shorts, and Melissa Etheridge, with impeccable timing, was on the radio. It's not like it was WHOLLY UNBELIEVABLE that my fiancée would be possessed of two ée's. It was ten minutes to seven.

He looked at me, and I looked at him. And he looked at me. "This is not your car."

"Sir, I never purported that it was."

"Who's car is this?"

My patience, already thin, was done.

"Well, you've run the plates and discovered that it belongs to Amber J-----. I do not dispute that fact."

"You said it was your fiancée's."

Um. Seriously. Do I have the wrong haircut or something?

"You can call her if you like," I offered.

He grumbled something under his breath and appeared to be ruminating on what he was going to do with me.

At three minutes to seven, after he had stood there thinking to himself and muttering at me, I decided that I was sick of this shit.

"Sir, you pulled me over twenty minutes ago, have yet to establish just WHY you have done so, have threatened me a search, have doubted my rightful possession of this vehicle, and after we both agreed as to the ownership of the vehicle you have continued harass me about it. I have somewhere to be. Now. I therefore respectfully suggest that you decide what you are going to do about me."

He bristled. "I am not sure you are in legal possession of this vehicle."

"Very well then, you ought to arrest me and impound the car, and let me call my fiancée, who is a GIRL, who will get a ride from someone else because I am IN HER CAR, come up here, and tell you that the Car Belongs To Her. At the moment, you are detaining me without probable cause and I've had time enough sitting here to memorise your badge number."

I forgot his badge number during practice.

With a few more mumbles, he told me to go on my way.

Seriously. How damn dense do you have to be? I'm annoyed that I forgot his badge number, but I remember what he looked like, having looked at him for half an hour. There may be a complaint in his future.

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1 Comments:

Blogger wendteacher said...

Were you ever able to conclude WHY he pulled you over? Bored, perhaps? Sheesh! Was this previous to your long blast to the outfield wall? You have the most . . . exciting, eventful . . . or whatever, life.

11:23 AM  

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