Police!

This actually happened about twelve days ago, but I thought it might offer some enjoyment to my readers.

On the way home from Ruby's Cafe, I stopped at a QuikTrip to use the restroom and pick up an Arizona. I climbed back into the van and switched on the reading light on my instrument panel (the dash lights are extremely flaky; on the rare occasion when they actually come on, they will suddenly go back off without warning). I started up my music again (The Altar and the Door, borrowed from my brother) and pulled out.

After about a mile, I stopped at a red light. While waiting for it to turn green, I heard a very loud whistle coming from my left. I turned to look, and some guy in a white minivan was pointing at me and trying to get my attention. I was quite offended — was this some crazy homosexual trying to solicit me? The light went green, and we continued on our way. The van stayed right beside me for a mile. At the next intersection, I arrived just as the light was turning yellow. Hoping to lose the minivan, I sped through the intersection on the tail of the car in front of me. A little green car in the right-turn lane of the intersecting street honked loudly at me as I passed. Boy, some people are rude, I thought.

Four miles further down the road, I was convinced that two or three particular vehicles were following me, and I was eager to get home and away from them. But as I passed the library I remembered that I had a book in. Not sure how late they were open, I decided to stop by and find out if I could pick up the book. I turned into the neighborhood near the library, and a white pickup turned after me. I was quite disturbed. As I wound my way through the neighborhood, I kept glancing at my rearview mirror ... he was following me, but at a distance — as if he didn't want me to know he was following. But I knew.

I turned onto "B" Avenue, which goes right past the library, and was struck by how dark the road was. No cars were around, so I flipped on my brights. Nothing happened. My heart skipped a beat as I realized that my headlights were turned off. I quickly switched them on, and now things began to make sense ... the guys in the van weren't being weird, they were trying to tell me that my lights were off. The green car wasn't being rude — with my lights off, I was nearly invisible; I had narrowly escaped an accident. I took a deep breath and thanked God for keeping me safe.

But things only got crazier.

Shortly after I turned on my headlights, a white car turned into B Avenue heading in my direction. I realized that my brights were still on, so I clicked them off. The car was a police car, and as I passed it, it stopped. I turned into the library and glanced at my mirror. The police car had turned around and was following me, as was a second police car. I pulled into the library's back parking lot and parked.

The first police car pulled in behind me and turned on his lights. What on earth...? I wondered. Did I just go 30 in the 25 mph neighborhood? Do they have my van confused with some dangerous criminal? Could it have anything to do with my lights? ... No way, you can't get pulled over for that. Great, I must have been speeding. Now I'm going to get a ticket ... $200 fine ... insurance costs will go up ... this is not my day.

I turned off the music, rolled down my window, pulled out my wallet, and fished out my license. The police officer slowly walked up to my door, shining his flashlight into the windows of the van.

"Evenin'," he said.
"Good evening," I replied.
"Mind if I ask what you're doing at the library this late at night?"
"I have a book to pick up, and I'm not sure how late they're open." I handed him my license. The officer accepted it, then shone his flashlight over at the library window, where in large letters were printed "MON - THU 12 - 8"
"Ah, eight o'clock," I read, feeling rather silly.
He looked at his watch. "It's nearly ten o'clock. I don't know of any library that's open this late." I felt even more foolish.
"You going somewhere?" he asked.
"Yeah, I was on my way home," I answered. "I just had a meeting with some friends at Ruby's Full Cup Café; we left about nine." He nodded.

Then he hit me with the crucial question. "So, do you mind telling me why you just drove six miles without your headlights on?"

My stomach flipped. Okay, this was the reason they pulled me over ... now I'm going to get a ticket. Wonderful. I tried to keep my voice calm as I answered. "I forgot to turn them on when I left the QT at 101st and Memorial, and didn't notice until I turned into this neighborhood where there are no streetlights," I explained.
He nodded disbelievingly. "So you didn't notice? No headlights?"
"Yeah, with all the streeghtlights ..."
"And no dash lights?"
"My dash lights don't work. That's why I have this," I answered, showing him the reading light on the instrument panel. He looked in. The dash lights were off and the headlights were on, so I was obviously telling the truth, at least about that.

There was silence for a minute. My heart was racing, my stomach was twisting, and my voice was starting to shake.
"Sorry, I'm kinda nervous," I added; "I've never been pulled over before."
"Yeah, well, people don't usually drive around at night with their lights off," he pointed out.
"I know. I'm sorry; I realize the danger in that. In fact, I think I nearly got hit going through one intersection," I answered. "It won't happen again."
He nodded distantly. "So, can I ask ... just a standard question ... you haven't been drinking anything, have you?"
I picked up the half-empty Arizona bottle from my cupholder. "Just tea," I answered.
"Just tea," he repeated. "OK. Hang on a minute, let me call this in." He took my license back to his car.

I took a deep breath and finished the Arizona in an attempt to calm myself down. Then a second police car pulled in with its lights flashing as well. Oh, great, now what? I wondered. I fished out the registration and proof of insurance for the van while I waited. An officer got out of the second car and talked to the officer in the first car for a minute. Then the first officer came back up to my window and said, "Sir, could I ask you to step out for just a moment? We just want to run a quick test to see if you've been drinking anything ... just a standard procedure to satisfy —" he gestured in the direction of his superior officer.
"Sure," I said, climbing out. "Oh, do you want the vehicle registration?"
"Sure," he replied. I handed him the registration paper. He glanced at it and said, "That won't do me any good; I need to see the proof of insurance."
"Oh, insurance," I answered, feeling stupid again. I traded the registration for the proof of insurance. He looked at the proof of insurance, nodded, and handed it back to me.

He had me stand in front of him and watch the end of his pen with my eyes (not turning my head) while he moved it back and forth in front of my face from directly in the beam of his flashlight to the darkness of the surrounding night. He watched my eyes to check the pupil dilation rates — the eyes of a person who is under the influence of alcohol or drugs have trouble adjusting from darkness to light and vice versa. After a couple of passes, he nodded to the other officer and said I was fine.

"Thanks; we just wanted to check on that 'cause we've had several people call in concerned about you driving with your lights off. And some people were trying to get your attention ... ?"
"Yeah," I answered, "one car honked at me when I went through an intersection, but I just thought they were being rude. And somebody else was whistling and pointing at me, but I thought they were ... you know ..."
"Trying to get a date?" he chuckled.
"Yeah."
"All right. Well, have a safe trip home," he said.
"Okay. Thanks," I said. I also thanked the other officer and shook his hand. They returned my license and left. I sat for a minute to recover my breath, then drove home. My stomach was still twisting when I walked in the front door about fifteen minutes later.