Driving ... (Part the Third) - Close Encounters of the Police Kind

(Source)

So, There I Was¹ ...

Heading up to Andover, back in the days of my exile, upon a Sunday afternoon. All I wanted to do was get to my hotel, check in, then watch some football before spending four ten-hour days testing combat systems.

Some miles short of my exit on I-495, there is a big truck having trouble keeping pace with traffic. He comes upon another big truck having the same issue. After the two decide to have what the Germans call "an elephant dance," I see an opening in the far left lane of a three lane highway. I scoot over and blow past the elephant dance at a rather high rate of speed.

Moments later I am a mile short of my exit and there are pretty flashing blue and red lights astern.

Damn.

'Twas a Massachusetts State Police trooper and I was in his sights.

I sighed and eased Big Girl² off to the side of the highway and awaited my fate.

"Hi, where are you headed in such a hurry?"

It was an older trooper, a lieutenant as a matter of fact, I was pleased, it was not some young rookie with a chip on his shoulder.

"Headed up to Andover, well actually Tewksbury where my hotel is. I work up here in Andover four days a week. I'm out of Rhode Island, on loan to our facility up here."

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm a computer guy."

"Ah, so you're the guy who messes up my computer?"

Shooting him a peeved look, I said, "Certainly not, if anything I'm the guy who tests the system before it goes out the door. I'd be the guy fixing your computer."

"Ah, I see. You know you were going pretty fast, right?"

"Yessir, trying to put some distance between myself and a herd of assholes back there around Lowell. There were two idiot truckers 'racing' each other. Everyone else was competing to see how slow they could go."

At that the trooper chuckled.

"Well, I had you at close to 95, try to keep it down around 80 like everyone else. You have a good day sir."

"You too, and thanks."

With that we went our separate ways, a decent chap, just doing his job trying to keep the highways safe.

Now I'm not going to say I've never gotten a ticket before, because I have. Two as a matter of fact, only one of which was "earned." That one was in Virginia going down U.S. 13 on the Eastern Shore. Again I was trying to get past a trucker who would only go fast when it was safe to pass him. Blew past him and there was a sign indicating that the speed limit was now 45 and I was going 75.

Damn.

There was also a sheriff sitting right there. He pulled me over and asked, "Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Yessir, I do."

I guess he was waiting for me to say something else, but as nothing was forthcoming he asked for my license and registration, which I handed over.

Some minutes later I was the proud possessor of a speeding ticket. In all truth, the guy could have jacked me up for reckless driving as I was a good 30 miles over the limit when I went past him. He probably didn't because he didn't have his radar up. Dodged a bullet there.

The other ticket was received for "driving with long hair."

In the town where I worked just after my first year of college there was a local cop well-known for his dislike of "hippies." (Which in Vermont in the 70s was any male with long hair.)

I was heading home in my Dad's Dodge pickup truck, which looked something like this ...

This is a 1964 D Series, Dad's might have been a little newer.
(Source)

The old girl was reliable as hell, but I doubt she'd get much over 55 mph going downhill with a tailwind. The speed limit where I was pulled over was, you guessed it, 55.

Anyhoo, I'm headed home when about three miles outside of town I look in the rear view mirror to see the flashing red and blue lights of a police vehicle.

I pull over and look in the rear view mirror, damn, it's the "hippy hater" hisself.

"You know why I pulled you over, boy?"

Pausing a moment, I looked at the guy, "Nope, no idea. Sir."

"Well, you passed a school bus back there in the village with its lights flashing."

I thought for a moment, no way that was possible, school got out long before I got out of work. So I took a deep breath and said, "I don't think I did. Are you sure about that?"

"Well, you were also doing 65 in a 55 when I pulled you over."

Rather than get into some big stink I just sighed and said, "Well, what now?"

After handing over my license and registration and sitting there fuming, the guy comes back and hands me a ticket for doing five miles an hour over the speed limit.

I took it and looked at him, "Really? Well, you have a nice day. Sir."

One more police encounter then I'm done. Well, this was a security policeman on Okinawa and I wasn't in a car.

A buddy and I were headed to work after having dinner in the chow hall. As we started out, we noticed that if we didn't hot foot it, we would be late. So we starting running.

As we ran the damned bugles started tootling (when I was on Okinawa the damned things were going off all the time, reveille, pay call, chow call, retreat, damned things were always going off). When that happened you were supposed to stop, face the music, and present arms.

We were only half paying attention so we kept running. Not far from the shop we heard someone yell, "You two airmen! Stop right there!"

So we did, heard the music then realized what was happening. We presented arms next to a fuming security cop. When the music was done, he actually took our ID cards and frog marched us to the security shop, just next to the road as I recall.

Once there he was reading us our rights and gloating like he'd just caught the freaking Rosenbergs selling secrets to the Russians. Then his boss walked in.

"What's going on here, Staff Sergeant Smith?"

"I apprehended these two airmen not stopping to render honors."

The Master Sergeant looked at us, saw that we each possessed a single, lonely stripe, and asked, "Is that true?"

My buddy quickly answered, "We were running late for work, had to run to get there on time. Didn't realize what the music was."

"Where you boys work?"

"18th Avionics Maintenance Squadron."

"Flightline, huh? You guys still on 12-hour shifts?"

"Yessir." we both chimed.

"Smith, gimme those IDs."

Smith did so, reluctantly I might add.

"Here you go guys," handing us our IDs, "if you get any grief being late for work, have your boss call me. Now git!"

Off we went, we could hear the Master Sergeant berating the guy who jacked us up. From that day forth my opinion of the Air Force Security Police went way downhill. I know some of them were good, but most of them were, as juvat once said, nothing more dangerous than a 19-year old with a beanie, a badge and a gun. Not many possessed much in the way of common sense.

Later events in Korea made me despise them even more, but that's a story for another day.

So there ya go, your Sarge, Your Humble Scribe, scofflaw and part time rebel.

Sigh ...

I try to be good, really.

¹ SJC applies.

² Big Girl was my 2005 blue Honda Element, gifted to me by The Nuke, when she decided to upgrade her ride.