I had been sitting in the back seat of the squad car for about 10 minutes before she came back, hoping to God no one had chosen to play a Christmas prank on me.
Maybe I should start at the beginning. I have been house-sitting in Burbank for my wonderful cousins and their three adorable little pets. However, with a few remaining church obligations before Christmas comes and goes, I had to make a brief commute up to Castaic. On the way back, I decided that I needed some gas, so I turned the corner to head towards the bright red & orange Pilot truck stop that usually shines so brightly in my patio view.
As I made the turn, I saw the two black-and-white units make U-turns. They were doing so illegally at that particular intersection (lawbreakers!) and so I knew this only meant one thing: They were after me.
Sure enough, I turned on my signal and moved into the turning lane to enter the gas station and saw the bright blue & reds. Being already in the turning lane, I pulled into the station, finding the first parking space to stop my car. The two units parked angled behind my vehicle in a V formation so as to prevent any notion I might have of a speedy reverse exit. Just in case I suddenly thought I was Bullitt.
OK, maybe I took the turn too sharply. Maybe it was a yellow light and I didn’t notice and they want to slow me down. It’s nothing, I’m sure.
She tapped the window, her much taller partner standing near the rear of my car but still on the driver’s side. I rolled my window down and smiled.
“Sir, when an officer pulls you over, just pull over to the right side of the road.” I thought, well, I would have but I was already in the turning lane. Thought it best not to share that observation and just find out what was going on because I didn’t really like her tone. It made me nervous. And her partner, also a woman, was really tall.
“Do you have your license?” “Yes, ma’am.” I produced the license and she barely glanced at it. “Sir, have you ever been arrested before?”
OK. Hadn’t heard that question before. This was suddenly not so casual. Not so benign. I’m the guy who once had a police officer try to falsify an accident report against me to make their friend who slammed into me look better. I’m the guy who once got a $110 ticket while riding a bicycle. I don’t have luck with cops. Never have. And this one was asking me if I had ever been arrested before.
“No ma’am.” One breath. “Step out of the car please.”
I complied, everything suddenly moving in slow-motion. She grabbed my arm, led me over to her vehicle and moved my hand behind my back. “Place your hands behind your back and interlock your fingers.” I did so, and heard the rattle of the cuffs. I don’t remember feeling them — just hearing them rattle. That was enough, I think.
“Sir, I’m going to search you now. Is there anything in your pockets that’s going to poke me?” “My keys are in there, but that’s all.” As she proceeded to empty my pockets and ask my questions about why I was headed to Burbank from Castaic at 10:30 at night, I kept thinking to myself — If I go to jail, I’ll never get to sleep tonight. And I hadn’t been to bed from the night before (which probably meant I looked a little cracked-out and that was not a point in my favor). What if I get tasered? I’m gonna look like a moron flopping around like a fish. I hope they don’t think my prescription I just filled at Rite Aid looks suspicious. It’s for my stomach, I swear!
“Sir, I’m going to have to search your car. May I do that?” Not a whole lot I can do about it right now is there? is what I really wanted to say, but when I spoke it just came out, “Sure.” I’m buckled over the hood of their car, sufficiently nervous about them having pat-searched me when I hadn’t showered — or gotten their phone numbers — hoping to the good God in Heaven nobody from the church drove by. That would be just my Lackey-luck.
“I’m going to need you to sit in my vehicle while I search your car.” What? I’d never been in the back seat of a cop car before. Wow. She took off my hat (terrible hat hair – can’t believe I worried about it at that moment, but I did) and cupped my scalp so I didn’t hit my head on the roof of her mobile prison.
I looked out at everything from the caged back seat. Those bucket seats in police vehicles are ridiculously uncomfortable. Like those awkwardly hooked chairs they have in most DMVs. Her partner was in the other vehicle, running my license while she, step by step, took my car apart.
Now, I don’t want to get too dramatic, but I was a bit . . . confused. I had no idea why I had been pulled over, let alone searched and pocketed in the back seat of the car. For those of you who frequent my blogs, you may have seen my most recent entry (the challenge to eradicate negative responses). If you didn’t see it, read it quickly (it’s way shorter than this) and you’ll understand the predicament I’m in at that moment.
I’m being arrested for charges unknown, and I can’t even complain about it.
That Simpsons episode came to mind where Ned Flanders gets pulled over for speeding and winds up bent over Chief Wiggum’s vehicle when the church bus drives by and everybody waves. Yeah. Isn’t THAT funny. It’s amazing how being caught automatically makes you think you’re guilty even when you’ve done nothing.
About eight or nine minutes after I had taken my new residence in her car, I saw the two officers look at each other and their expressions both changed. They tensed and began to squint at each other. This is it, I thought. I’m spending tonight in jail. Somebody tell my mother I love her.
The officer who originally spoke to me returned to her car and opened the door. “Everything’s fine, Ronald.” She cupped my head again (forehead this time), helped me out of the car – the cuffs rattled again (louder this time, it seems) – and they let me go.
“I’m going to give you a warning, Mr. Lackey.” Oh, so soon? We were just having fun. “Your front driver’s side head light is out. Get it fixed.” Point taken. Loud and clear.
I collected my things, some scattered on the hood of their car, some scattered in my seats. I didn’t get their names, ask any questions, or even say goodbye. I just wanted to be done with the situation so I could do that whole “look-back-and-laugh” thing. I don’t know why their expressions had changed before they let me go. Maybe I disappointed them by not being Al Capone Jr. My car was still running, so I waited for them to drive away and . . . well, I still needed gas. Hm. Almost forgot that.
Did I mention I don’t have the best luck when it comes to police officers? Still, I should probably go ahead and get that head light fixed.
