Back when I was young, I had a burning hatred of the Popo because I was usually up to no good. Now that I’m older my opinion has moderated. I view cops the same way I view stray animals or syphilis, and I figure if you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone.
Unfortunately, my hatred was rekindled last week.
I was happily driving down I-95 minding my business and playing a spirited game of tic-black-toe. Like all great games, this one takes only seconds to learn, but a lifetime to master, and the objective is to get three cars vertically, horizontally or diagonally with black people in them.
I thought I had a vertical for the win, but since the third vehicle was an old Ford pickup, there was a good chance it was going to end up being a Mexican for the block. As I pulled up close to get a look, bam, I hit something in the road. And I wasn’t alone.
There was a bunch of loose debris in the lanes, and about half a dozen cars had hit it and gotten flats. As I pulled over to change my tire, I was actually happy to see a cop car approaching with his lights on. I figured he’d pull behind us and use his lights to make sure none of us got rear-ended during our little tire-changing party.
But, I was wrong. That brave boy in blue drove another half mile down the road and plopped his ass down at the entrance to the High Occupancy Vehicle lanes.
It was 5:56 pm, and the HOV lanes opened to all traffic in FOUR goddamned minutes, but he had to make sure he got there so he could write a ticket to anyone who dared enter the lane 240 seconds before the official start time.
Thanks, Officer. You’re the best.