Black And White: No Room for Grey

Written April 20, 1998

I hate cops. I always have and always will. My husband will tell you that I don't have any basis for this really. I formed my opinion even before I was harassed on numerous occasions by our fine civilian protectors. Obviously if someone is walking downtown he or she is a runaway. I just didn't know that until after 20 questions and telling my 20-minute life story to a cop just so I could continue walking.
Now, my husband holds cops in high regard. I really can't see how because he has more reason to hate cops than I do. He says he has respect for them because they symbolize that our country is trying to uphold law and justice. I say harassing teenage girls for walking is not upholding the law. His early job plan was to become one of the fine men in blue. One thing I do know about cops is that they are notorious for breaking those little laws like speeding. It would be fitting that such a lawbreaker get a job with his fellow men.
After receiving his speeding tickets, he should have lost respect for all cops. Coming home late from my house one night back when we were still dating, he managed to double his speed in a 30-mile an hour zone. The real kicker was that he was only half a block away from turning off Moreland onto his street. While he maintains that he only peaked at 60 for mere seconds, the off-duty officer, whom my husband claimed was matching his speed, pulled him over - the only identifying mark of the cop being the little light on his dash. I can imagine him banging on the steering wheel waiting for the officer to leave his vehicle. If I know him well, he had one arm rested on the doorframe and one hand on the wheel as the officer explained his reckless driving.
My husband received no sympathy from the gruff old man. The officer didn't even have radar in his car but he used the speed that had registered on his speedometer. Even though he was headed home for the night, he had time to write out a ticket that cost $200 and 6 points on his license. Certainly my husband broke the law and needed reprimanding, but the officer threw the book at him. My husband merely claims he was young and stupid at the time and needed the kick in the ass.
His other ticket, he claims, was written out only because the female officer had nothing better to do at three in the morning. I say it was his fault for coasting in at 45 instead of slowing to the posted limit of 25 where Moreland enters Waukesha. He also likes to point out that his friend was sliding down the hill at 40 as he was pulling to the curb. I don't understand how he can see himself as the poor victim when he was in the wrong for speeding in the first place.
Sexist remarks aside, he says that her main concern with pulling him over was to make sure he wasn't underage. She should be concerned to see two young men drag racing down a strip of Moreland in the dead of night. His obvious lack of respect for females in general had to hurt his chances of getting off light. I can only imagine him pouting in his little Cavalier while the black and white idles behind him, red and blue lights flashing the officer while she hands him another ticket that would take 6 points off his license. Had he not gone to court to have his first ticket reduced, he would have lost his license. This time, though, he only got an $80 ticket.
I've never gotten a speeding ticket - I must be the last driver alive who actually believes speed limits aren't a joke. I figure if cops have been jerks while I'm on foot, they're certainly not going to give me a break when I'm in vehicle. However, I've been pulled over twice and cannot explain why it happened the way it did.
Had I been any older, the first time I was pulled over would have caused a heart attack. I was driving a car that belonged in a junk pile - there had to be at least two hunks of metal hanging underneath it. My sister was in the passenger seat unbuckled, and my mother was lying across the backseat sleeping. I had just turned off of Pewaukee onto Northview and was picking up speed. It was only 40 here so I didn't quite hit the rattle and clanking speed. It was still pretty noisy in the car with the windows down and radio blasting.
As I passed the Humane Animal Welfare Society, a sheriff nearly pulled into me full force. That scared me enough to prevent me from swerving to the right. Thank God he stopped, tires squealing. I swear my heart stopped to hear the shrill siren only seconds later and catch the flashing red and blue lights in my rear view. At first, I got angry that some stupid cop would almost hit me and then pull me over, but then I started to panic because once again I had forgotten my glasses and license. I have a bad habit of not wearing my glasses. I don't really have bad vision - I see better without my glasses than my husband does with them.
Paranoia aside, I pulled onto the gravel, and a young officer trotted up to the car. He took no longer than 30 seconds to reach my window, but I already had the hard plastic steering wheel in a death grip and sweat trickling down my body. It was hot in the July sun, but the car was cooled by the breeze through the open window.
I turned to face him, ready with some wild excuse about how I was actually wearing contacts when he blurted out he was sorry, hurriedly explained that some stray dog he had taken in had thrown up in the back seat, and that he wasn't paying quite enough attention to the road before pulling out. He sort of waved, then apologized again before trotting back to his car. I was still sitting there with my mouth open ready to give my bogus excuse. I was too stunned to move for a few seconds, but then I was able to laugh off my nervousness. As I wondered if I should pull out before the cop, my mother sat up in back. I shifted into drive and cautiously continued home.
The second encounter I had with an officer occurred when I borrowed my father in law's car to pick up my sister from work. It was around midnight when she called to ask for a ride because her car was dead in the parking lot. I just threw on some clothes and strapped my sleeping son into his seat before leaving. I didn't have far to go - just a few blocks - so I didn't even bother to ask permission to use the car.
While I was turning the corner from Madison to Moreland, I heard a siren. It got through one whoop before I pulled over nagged by the realization that I hadn't even grabbed shoes. I twisted my grip on the cold, thin steering wheel before reaching up to adjust the glasses that weren't on my face. I went numb when I realized they were still by my bed.
This officer chose to drag out the torture as long as possible. I glanced in my rear view mirror at least a dozen times before I saw his door open. I kept wondering if they'd question why I was driving someone else's car. I could see myself being dragged down to the station for driving impaired without a license in a stolen car. Needless to say, by the time his door opened my heart was racing a mile a minute. I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry.
"Is he sleeping?" a young officer asked in a friendly voice. He pointed to the car seat in back and crouched to see my face through the open window.
I could only nod - I didn't trust my voice yet.
"I'll try to be quiet then and make this quick. I just need to see your license."
I fumbled through my pockets, trying to portray innocence, before announcing, "I don't have it on me."
"That's all right," he said with a laugh and a smile. "Could I just have your social security number?"
I rattled it off, thankful that I had finally decided to memorize it, and he tiptoed back to his car. Once it was certain I was a licensed driver and a law-abiding citizen (he asked my name and birthdate for further identification), he calmly explained, "You're left headlight burnt out."
Embarrassed, I told him I hadn't known. I couldn't believe how easily the lie slipped out. I was overparanoid about driving the car because the light had yet to be replaced in the two weeks it had been broken.
"You should really get it fixed," he whispered before he headed back to the squad car. He didn't even write up a warning!
My husband is trying to tell me that these officers were being their own friendly selves. I say being friendly has nothing to do with doing his or her job and scaring someone is not friendly.