Shoup Airlines

Whatever happened to Sgt. Friday?

I’ve been laid up on the couch for the last three days with a crap-errific cold so this story is a bit old but still worth it.

Driving home from the base last Friday, I was in one of those post work out dazes when I noticed a cop car pass in the opposite direction. I only notice the black and white because it was missing the light bar. I thought this odd and quickly slipped back into my daze. About a minute later I realize the very same black and white is following me. This means he whipped a U-ey across a major thoroughfare. That cannot bode well for me. I rapidly rewind the last 10 minutes, reviewing any possible infractions I may have incurred. Finding nothing, I notice the black and white is following a good pace back which is a bit odd. I turn into my housing track, the unit following behind and now I know I’m in for something.

I get another good quarter of a mile into the track before he hits the siren and pulls me over, but as I begin to pull over I notice that the ENTIRE Buena Park Police Department is pulling me over! I kid you not, there were three motor cops and five more cars on top of the original light bar lacking unit coming out of the woodwork. The only thing missing was the ghetto bird. At this point, my brain has gone from curiosity and concern to full blown hilarity wondering what I could have done in the 15 minute drive from the base to get this kind of attention.

Waiting for the cop to stroll up to my window, I hear the bullhorn instead…

Stick both hands out the window and slowly open the door with your right hand!

Keeping both hands in the air, step out of the vehicle and keep your back to my voice!

Getting out of the car I can’t help but look at the show of force behind me and zero right in on the officer who has his 9mm Barreta LEVELED AT MY HEAD! I can see Right. Down. His. Barrel.

What surprises me is my reaction. All I can think is, “huh, there’s something you don’t see every day…guess I can add that to the list of things I’ve done.”

Walk back toward my voice. Stop! Now sidestep to the right. Stop!

“It’s just a jump to the left,

And then a step to the right…

Let’s do the time-warp again!”

Now you would think that after seeing a loaded gun pointed at you, you’d lose all sense of humor…you’d think. But this is me.

The cop finally walks up to me, tells me to put my hands behind my back and proceeds to grab the last two fingers of both hands in one bunch and wrench upward. Go ahead, have someone try it on you, feels great! He searches me, sits me down on the curb and then I watch as seven cops, weapons drawn, search my car only to be baffled on the operation of the trunk. The cop standing over me doesn’t take this lightly, actually kicks me (not hard) and asks “how do you open the trunk, asshole?!”

For those wondering why seven cops couldn’t open a trunk, Volkswagen didn’t put an intuitive handle or button on the trunk of a ’94 Jetta. They thought they’d be cute and make the key slot itself the actual button to pop the trunk. I always thought it was kind of cool too until I got chided by a cop for it.

Finding nothing in the car, the cops actually got angrier, but finally holstered their pistols and drove off as fast as they had arrived except for the original cop that pulled me over. Well, him and the thigh kicker.

“Do you know why we pulled you over?” Oh, the things I wish I could have said!

You wanted to see if you still had it?

You were bored and wanted a good game of chicken?

I looked suspicious being the only white guy in this Hispanic neighborhood?

“No officer, I don’t.”

“Someone reported a kidnapping matching your physical and vehicle description from the direction you were coming. Where are you coming from?”

I complied with the questioning, he then wanted I.D. which was still in the car because I was wearing gym clothes. I think he used this as an excuse to search my car for another 5 minutes because my I.D. was sitting right on top of my uniform in the back seat.

Thigh kicker decides it’s time to play nice cop and starts asking what I do at the base, blah, blah, blah. Another 10 minutes pass before light bar cop has finished running all my background checks, but still wants my phone number (understandable) and my Social (whaaa?). I don’t think he would have liked the cut of my jib had I been Shirley Temple!

Finally satisfied(?) that I’m not their suspect, they let me go home but not before telling me that I should drive directly home?! No, I thought I’d cruise the streets and provoke some more cops, maybe see if I could get a shotgun pointed at me next time!