My mother and I headed out late Sunday night from my cousin’s house in Cleveland, Ohio. We’d been to Mom’s younger sister’s wedding that afternoon. I was driving and we were making good time. We were only about 20 minutes from my parents’ house and had just gotten off the I-71 expressway onto I-275. We were going 70 mph, which was, I thought, only 5 miles over the legal limit of 65 mph. Well, to our surprise, within about 30 seconds, we saw flashing lights behind us. Oh great! We’re getting pulled over, I thought to myself. Little did I know the unbelievable events that would transpire in the next 40 minutes as we waited on the side of I-275.
The policeman got out of his cruiser and went to the passenger side window and asked to see my driver’s license. He also asked to see my mother’s, which I thought was odd since she wasn’t driving. But, no big deal—she gladly obliged. He then asked if I was aware that I was doing 71 mph in a 60 mph zone. Well, I informed him that I honestly thought the speed limit was 65 mph. He proceeded to inform me, in his stern, authoritative tone, that the speed limit was, in fact, 60 mph and that “it was posted.” Well, up in the distance ahead of us, I vaguely saw a speed limit sign and definitely could make out the “6” located on it, but the next number was a little fuzzy. But, I thought, let’s just deal with this and get on our way.
Then, he asked for proof of insurance. Everything seemed perfectly normal. Unfortunately, I’d been pulled over before in my lifetime and knew the drill. After looking over our licenses, he asked me to get out of the car and come with him. I thought, now this is strange. I’ve never been asked to get out of my car. I thought he may have thought I was driving drunk or something and that he’d have me walk a straight line. All this was beginning to make me very uneasy. Nothing, however, compared to being asked to sit inside the police cruiser. Not just on the edge of the seat where he could see me from outside, mind you, but totally inside with the door closed! This made me extremely uncomfortable, as it would any normal human being not accustomed to seeing the inside of police cars. I asked if I was being taken in for something. He said no, that he just didn’t want to get killed on the side of the road. Well, I can certainly understand his concern. We did, after all look like the stereotypical dangerous criminal on the loose late at night. My five-foot, white-haired, 75-year-old mother was dressed in a gray sweat suit that had colorful birds on the front and I was wearing a flannel-type, pink-checkered shirt that zipped down the front. We were in my mother’s Mercury Sable (the getaway car of choice for most criminals), and she had a “Bird on board” sign hanging from her rear window. Definite signs of lurking danger on the highway! He probably thought Mom was just a decoy to throw him off the trail of the real dangerous criminal—me. After all, the bird sign alone screams convicted felon!
Still, I thought to myself, this will pass. Once he finds out I’m not a criminal with outstanding warrants I’ll be freed from this police car and we’d again be on our way. Well, he got in the front seat of the cruiser and proceeded to check my “record.” I could see very clearly his little computer as he entered my driver’s license number. It responded, “No record” and I could see my name on it. Well, he didn’t seem satisfied with this outcome. Surely, I must have some kind of record looking as dangerous as I did that night. So, he entered the number again. The same response was received. No record. He apparently had little faith in his little computer and called into the station to have my license checked yet again! They, too, said, “No record, no warrants.” Now, I mean, come on! I can understand entering the number twice just in case you transposed a number, but this was going too far. Anyway, I thought, I don’t have a record. I don’t have outstanding warrants. So, we should be able to go home soon. Nope. Wrong again!! He then gets on the CB radio and asks his fellow police officer to come join him with his “partner.”
I thought this guy must be a new cop or something. Or, I must surely look like a criminal—recently featured on an episode of America’s Most Wanted, perhaps. I’ve been accused of having a twin several times, but never a criminal twin. Knowing I had no criminal record, I waited patiently for him to realize it, too. The douchebag!
A few more minutes pass by and I see yet more flashing lights behind us. At this point, my mother is wondering what the heck is happening and what they were doing to her daughter. She opened the car door and was about to stand up when the officer jumped out of the cruiser and asked what she was doing. Obviously, she must’ve been coming out to shoot him in the head with a high-powered rifle. You just can’t be too careful these days! Anyway, he told my mother that this was just a “routine” thing. He then asked her, “What do you have in this car, anyway?” She told him, “Go ahead and look for yourself” and that there were some leftover “biscuits in the trunk” from our brunch earlier that day. He didn’t seem intent on pursuing the matter. He must’ve felt confident that the real criminal was securely locked in his cruiser.
But, then his fellow cop and his “partner” got out of the newly arrived police car and approached my mother’s car. This team consisted of one cop and one German Shepherd. Yes. You read that right. A German Shepherd!
Now, this is getting ridiculous, I’m thinking to myself with a few other choice words racing through my mind when I muttered “Prick” in that cruiser. Surely, I must be dreaming or something! But, this was really happening! I watched in total disbelief as the fellow cop and his “partner” circled my mother’s car not once, but twice, apparently searching for the drugs that we were so obviously harboring. Now, I knew we didn’t have drugs, but for a moment I thought I saw the dog’s tail wag at the prospect of finding food in the trunk and was sure that the cop would ask to see inside to find out for himself that we were actually law-abiding citizens. I mean, for the most part anyway. I was driving very dangerously fast and looked very guilty. I even acted “nervous” as he told my mother. Gee, I wonder why, you egotistical douchebag! Nonetheless, he seemed satisfied that the dog didn’t find any signs of illegal drugs and finally decided to let me out of the cruiser. He was, however, very polite at this point and told me, “Thank you for your time, and slow down.”
Now, I can understand that the police probably need to do regular practice runs to make sure their equipment is all working properly. But, if I was to be part of that exercise, I would’ve liked to at least been compensated for my time. I mean, a coupon for a free value meal at McDonald’s or perhaps a dozen donuts would have been more than sufficient. But, instead, this event sucked 40 minutes out of our lives and, on top of that, I received a lovely ticket with a $60 fine attached. Now, this wouldn’t be a big deal if it were a ticket to the policeman’s ball or something. I did, however, have the option of appearing in court to fight the alleged offense. But, after much consideration, I decided to just pay the $60 and be done with it. After all, if I’d appeared in court, who knows what other exercises I would’ve been a part of—the SWAT team or a bomb squad may have been there to perform their regular preparedness exercises. Or, even worse, a strip search crew!!!
As unbelievable as this experience was to us, something good did come out of the evening. After all, I personally feel much safer knowing that on my future trips to Ohio, the community will be efficiently protected by these fierce police officers, from dangerous criminals lurking in the night!
But, wait! There’s more to the story!
Four months later, on December 22, 2000, I sent this email to my parents:
Remember that ticket I got from the butt-sniffing cop?! And remember you couldn’t find your insurance card? Well, I got a notice in the mail that if it’s not proven that your car was insured at that time, they’re gonna come repossess your license plates!! If you could, just call them and tell them it was your car and see if you can just mail them a copy of your insurance card. That’s all they need. The number is: 745-8554 in Blue Ash. And, in case they need it, the citation number is 04-81680-5. Let me know what happens.
Love ya,
Vonda
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