WHAT SHOULD I do with my evening, seeing as how I’m not in jail..?
I should be..!
I can’t discuss it yet. It’s too close. Too troubling.
I was there for the taking, yet the two cops who stopped me, and turned me inside out, let me go.
Even after what I said. How does that happen..?
With them seeing my marijuana pipe and stash and apparently deciding not to notice it, while searching to retrieve my concealed handgun.
It was jail for me, for the entire weekend, I’m sure. Yet, I’m home, and still not settled.
How did it happen..? Something isn’t right.
At least, I did it my way (smile?).
…
JUST THE FACTS:
I had been at the barn all day, consuming beer as usual, throughout the afternoon. I opened an additional beer for the drive home — something I’ve been doing for years.
I tote a camera bag, with a lawfully carried gun inside. A marijuana pipe and stash were in there, also.
On the floor of the car were four oak seedlings (3″ high) in nursery pots that I was transporting home. A bag of pistachio nuts was on the seat next to me.
…
POLICE STOPPED ME for a faulty headlight, one block from home. I presented identification, including concealed-carry permit. Was I carrying now..? Yes. Where is the weapon..? In this bag.
They wanted to open the bag to see the gun. I asked if I could just pull it out, but they stopped me. They wanted to look in the bag, and I asked them not to. They removed me from the car and had their way with the bag. I could see it, sitting open, on the roof of my car, with the butt of the marijuana pipe clearly exposed.
They smelled the beer on my breath, and had found the open container. This obligated a field sobriety test, which I resisted at first, but eventually submitted to.
I told them how I felt they were overly aggressive. I felt they were out to ruin my life, and I didn’t do anything.
After the sobriety test, they cited me for the open container, and let me drive off.
I don’t know why I’m not in jail. Much to think about.
THERE IS SOMETHING more which I didn’t mention.
It was the most painful part of the experience, to me, and I didn’t want to analyze it yet — too touchy.
Thinking about it automatically raises questions of whether I was justified in playing hardball with the cops. But life is tough, and I’m okay with playing hardball.
There were two officers, both young and healthy men. The leading officer, the one ordering me about, was maybe 25, taller than me (everyone is), and looked strong like a machine. Good looking, bearing a light African-American skin tone, I felt that he was probably an excellent person and cop. But I couldn’t help playing the race card, as I had no other card to play.
When I complained that they were being overly aggressive, I said something that I didn’t believe. I said he was out to ruin my life, because he’s a black guy, and I’m a white guy. And so he’s out to pick on me. To ruin my life, and I didn’t do anything.
The whole statement is rubbish. I could have been cited for that.
But it is possible — I haven’t analyzed it yet — it’s possible that my hitting below the belt did the trick.
I’ll think about it later.
Thwarticus 