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