Some asshole.... - 2016-05-11 8:48 AM
...threw meth in my car......What the fuck?
Sometimes, in the middle of a work day, I'll head out to get lunch in a relatively decent area proximate to some plazas and a mall. Even though there's always bound to be some panhandlers here and there--as well as the occasional delusional hobo--I've never felt it to be too sketchy a place to hang out. I tend to park about a block away from one of these plazas and eat a sandwich in my car while listening to the radio. I park right next to a comic shop at the end of a cul-de-sac that terminates with a playground, which connects to a residential area. Unbeknownst to me, this is apparently a hang out, or at least a meetup, for drug dealers.
Today I see a couple of bicyclers heading over to the playground, and that's about all I cared to make note of before directing my attention to my phone and my food with my windows open so I could catch the breeze. Five to ten minutes later I hear a thunk against the floor of my van and I see one of the bikers in my periphery. I only spare a moment to get a look at the guy on the sidewalk riding the bike away from my vehicle before turning my attention to a baggy of suspicious looking crystal-like substance lying on my interior. It takes me about two to three seconds to process what just happened: there are fucking narcotics in my fucking van! The thought that immediately pops into my head is that I'm parked at some kind of drop point where people usually pick this shit up, and this asshole assumed I was waiting for him or something. Next thing that occurs to me is that I'm being watched by either criminals or law enforcement or both, and I quickly pick it up with my thumb and forefinger and toss it onto the sidewalk feeling a mixture of nervous and pissed-off.
I then see a cop car in my left-hand periphery and see that he's driving right next to me....fuck.
It turns out he's heading to the end of the cul-de-sac to talk to one of the bikers--some dude with a really long beard who looks like a wastoid piece of shit.
It took me about all of two seconds to figure out what to do here, but it felt somewhat longer because the decision was actually pretty tough. When I saw him head over to talk to the guy, it became apparent to me that his friend panicked as soon as he saw the black and white heading toward them, and so he made his get away while disposing of the evidence of his crime in the nearest open window. However, regardless of this reality, I am ultimately the party left holding the substance while the perpetrator is riding off into the distance. As such, it weighed heavy on me whether or not I should say nothing and move along or go over to the cop and make my case, bringing attention to a bag of whatever that could potentially make me a suspect by virtue of association, thereby destroying a hitherto good record. In the end, pissed-off won the battle, and I chose to get out of my car and walk up to the cop and tell him about the incident.
He looked at me skeptically for a moment before nodding and saying, "okay". His facial expression looked neither here nor there, neither affirmative nor negative. Instantly, I was feeling even less confident about the decision since his lack of reaction made it seem like he didn't believe me. That being said, having told him my piece, I walked back over to my vehicle where he drove by me a moment later and told me to wait for him as he drove off. Since I was kind of nervous about the whole affair, my imagination was playing games with me, wondering what the implications were for me waiting there. In the back of my mind, I was thinking he was getting back up to come and detain me for questioning or some shit like that. I got ancy just waiting there for about ten minutes when he finally showed up and asked to see the bag. I showed it to him lying on the sidewalk and he confirmed that it was meth.
(Now, to be clear, I'm not unfamiliar with his attitude professionally. If I had been in a more level-headed mindset, I wouldn't have put any stock in his stoicism since I, myself, was warned many times that it's the safest one to keep, from a legal perspective, as a uniformed enforcer/authority. If ever I was dealing with a foreign national while in uniform, I didn't want to give the impression that he could insinuate his interests into my own via emotional sympathy, and so I would keep a straight face as much as possible. I figure that cops have a similar policy with domestic cases. That being said, I was still in freakout mode, thinking that I had either a) scored a ten on his bullshit meter or b) drawn a Keystone Cop from an increasingly questionable deck of modern law enforcement.)
Apparently, he had went ahead to stop the biker about a block down the road, and then waited for another patrol car to come around to watch him before heading back over to me. At this point, I'm still jumpy but feeling considerably better about my odds. After having me replay the scene for him, he has me sign a statement before taking me to identify the biker. I really really really wish I had put more effort into getting a good look at the guy rather than waste time having a conniption about the drugs.
I told him that I didn't see his face since I was looking down at my phone when I heard the bag land in my car, but I figured I would have no problem identifying his profile. As such, he parked me about a block away, and had me identify him from the back of the vehicle. I was prepared for this to be open and shut, but as soon as I got a look at him, I realized that nothing stuck out in my mind with as much clarity as I had assumed. The clothes were definitely familiar since he was wearing all black. In retrospect however, the profile and the bike just didn't ring any bells; I didn't pay enough attention. So now here I am, paranoid that I'm about to finger the wrong guy who was simply unlucky enough to be apprehended in the place of the real drug dealer. Intellectually, I know that it is most definitely the guy. Not only was he the very picture of a seedy drug abuser, but I was informed off-handedly that he was probationary. That being said, it took me at least five minutes of looking at his actual appearance and reconciling it with what I actually saw before I finally decided that he matched the description from my memory. I still felt less than confident simply out of the fear that I was contributing to a broken machine that arrests innocent people and ruins their lives due to simple errors. But, thankfully, after having some time to calm down a look back on the situation rationally, I realized that his appearance fit my recollection, and that I didn't ruin some innocent guy's life.
Anywho, the cop drove me back to me vehicle and thanked me for the heads up. However, he also informed that because I didn't actually see the guy physically throw the bag in the car--even though he was the only one in the area, and thus the only one who could possibly have done it--nothing will probably happen to him. I was pissed again. This motherfucker could have easily ruined my life by planting that shit in my property, and nothing would come of it.
This entire experience scares me for one very terrifying reason: I have absolutely no trust or willingness to depend on law enforcement. They do not have my confidence at all. Otherwise, I would have had no problem getting out of my vehicle and telling him what happened. As it is however, I seriously considered simply throwing the bag away, driving off, and letting that dickhead get off scott free because I didn't need the headache of becoming a suspect in a narcotics case. And this is exactly what the world has come to. Fuck me.
Sometimes, in the middle of a work day, I'll head out to get lunch in a relatively decent area proximate to some plazas and a mall. Even though there's always bound to be some panhandlers here and there--as well as the occasional delusional hobo--I've never felt it to be too sketchy a place to hang out. I tend to park about a block away from one of these plazas and eat a sandwich in my car while listening to the radio. I park right next to a comic shop at the end of a cul-de-sac that terminates with a playground, which connects to a residential area. Unbeknownst to me, this is apparently a hang out, or at least a meetup, for drug dealers.
Today I see a couple of bicyclers heading over to the playground, and that's about all I cared to make note of before directing my attention to my phone and my food with my windows open so I could catch the breeze. Five to ten minutes later I hear a thunk against the floor of my van and I see one of the bikers in my periphery. I only spare a moment to get a look at the guy on the sidewalk riding the bike away from my vehicle before turning my attention to a baggy of suspicious looking crystal-like substance lying on my interior. It takes me about two to three seconds to process what just happened: there are fucking narcotics in my fucking van! The thought that immediately pops into my head is that I'm parked at some kind of drop point where people usually pick this shit up, and this asshole assumed I was waiting for him or something. Next thing that occurs to me is that I'm being watched by either criminals or law enforcement or both, and I quickly pick it up with my thumb and forefinger and toss it onto the sidewalk feeling a mixture of nervous and pissed-off.
I then see a cop car in my left-hand periphery and see that he's driving right next to me....fuck.
It turns out he's heading to the end of the cul-de-sac to talk to one of the bikers--some dude with a really long beard who looks like a wastoid piece of shit.
It took me about all of two seconds to figure out what to do here, but it felt somewhat longer because the decision was actually pretty tough. When I saw him head over to talk to the guy, it became apparent to me that his friend panicked as soon as he saw the black and white heading toward them, and so he made his get away while disposing of the evidence of his crime in the nearest open window. However, regardless of this reality, I am ultimately the party left holding the substance while the perpetrator is riding off into the distance. As such, it weighed heavy on me whether or not I should say nothing and move along or go over to the cop and make my case, bringing attention to a bag of whatever that could potentially make me a suspect by virtue of association, thereby destroying a hitherto good record. In the end, pissed-off won the battle, and I chose to get out of my car and walk up to the cop and tell him about the incident.
He looked at me skeptically for a moment before nodding and saying, "okay". His facial expression looked neither here nor there, neither affirmative nor negative. Instantly, I was feeling even less confident about the decision since his lack of reaction made it seem like he didn't believe me. That being said, having told him my piece, I walked back over to my vehicle where he drove by me a moment later and told me to wait for him as he drove off. Since I was kind of nervous about the whole affair, my imagination was playing games with me, wondering what the implications were for me waiting there. In the back of my mind, I was thinking he was getting back up to come and detain me for questioning or some shit like that. I got ancy just waiting there for about ten minutes when he finally showed up and asked to see the bag. I showed it to him lying on the sidewalk and he confirmed that it was meth.
(Now, to be clear, I'm not unfamiliar with his attitude professionally. If I had been in a more level-headed mindset, I wouldn't have put any stock in his stoicism since I, myself, was warned many times that it's the safest one to keep, from a legal perspective, as a uniformed enforcer/authority. If ever I was dealing with a foreign national while in uniform, I didn't want to give the impression that he could insinuate his interests into my own via emotional sympathy, and so I would keep a straight face as much as possible. I figure that cops have a similar policy with domestic cases. That being said, I was still in freakout mode, thinking that I had either a) scored a ten on his bullshit meter or b) drawn a Keystone Cop from an increasingly questionable deck of modern law enforcement.)
Apparently, he had went ahead to stop the biker about a block down the road, and then waited for another patrol car to come around to watch him before heading back over to me. At this point, I'm still jumpy but feeling considerably better about my odds. After having me replay the scene for him, he has me sign a statement before taking me to identify the biker. I really really really wish I had put more effort into getting a good look at the guy rather than waste time having a conniption about the drugs.
I told him that I didn't see his face since I was looking down at my phone when I heard the bag land in my car, but I figured I would have no problem identifying his profile. As such, he parked me about a block away, and had me identify him from the back of the vehicle. I was prepared for this to be open and shut, but as soon as I got a look at him, I realized that nothing stuck out in my mind with as much clarity as I had assumed. The clothes were definitely familiar since he was wearing all black. In retrospect however, the profile and the bike just didn't ring any bells; I didn't pay enough attention. So now here I am, paranoid that I'm about to finger the wrong guy who was simply unlucky enough to be apprehended in the place of the real drug dealer. Intellectually, I know that it is most definitely the guy. Not only was he the very picture of a seedy drug abuser, but I was informed off-handedly that he was probationary. That being said, it took me at least five minutes of looking at his actual appearance and reconciling it with what I actually saw before I finally decided that he matched the description from my memory. I still felt less than confident simply out of the fear that I was contributing to a broken machine that arrests innocent people and ruins their lives due to simple errors. But, thankfully, after having some time to calm down a look back on the situation rationally, I realized that his appearance fit my recollection, and that I didn't ruin some innocent guy's life.
Anywho, the cop drove me back to me vehicle and thanked me for the heads up. However, he also informed that because I didn't actually see the guy physically throw the bag in the car--even though he was the only one in the area, and thus the only one who could possibly have done it--nothing will probably happen to him. I was pissed again. This motherfucker could have easily ruined my life by planting that shit in my property, and nothing would come of it.
This entire experience scares me for one very terrifying reason: I have absolutely no trust or willingness to depend on law enforcement. They do not have my confidence at all. Otherwise, I would have had no problem getting out of my vehicle and telling him what happened. As it is however, I seriously considered simply throwing the bag away, driving off, and letting that dickhead get off scott free because I didn't need the headache of becoming a suspect in a narcotics case. And this is exactly what the world has come to. Fuck me.