By Zaphod
I pulled out of a side street. It was late on Saturday night, in a residential area, so the music wasn’t too loud, (Free- All Right Now). Not much traffic, but I noticed that the car coming was a police car, so I turned it down. They do like an excuse to pull a transit late at night. (Is this some kind of “ism”).
I pulled out of a side street. It was late on Saturday night, in a residential area, so the music wasn’t too loud, (Free- All Right Now). Not much traffic, but I noticed that the car coming was a police car, so I turned it down. They do like an excuse to pull a transit late at night. (Is this some kind of “ism”).
He followed me for a couple of miles, staying well back. Maybe he was just going the same way? Maybe he only wanted to do 27 mph too? He wasn’t catching me up.
He was waiting for backup.
Another car caught him up, and then they both switched the blues on.
I stopped, switched off, opened the door, and started to get out. (I always do that, it takes away their first opportunity to tell me what to do.) He appeared at the passenger window, “Switch off and step out please, sir.”
“It is off, and I’m already half out.”
Out on the pavement, there are three of them. They’ve got the full kit, bristling with belts and pouches and exciting dangly things.
“Do you know why I stopped you, sir?”
“No, I don’t know why you stopped me. Why have you stopped me?”
“When you pulled out of the side street-“
“No, there was plenty of room. You didn’t need to brake, did you?”
“No, I didn’t need to brake, but that’s a ‘Stop and Give Way’, you didn’t quite stop.”
“So, you’ve got an excuse. What do you want?”
“Would you come and sit in the car please, sir?”
“No, I won’t. I object to being locked in.”
“Eh?”
“You’ll lock the door. I don’t like being detained against my will.”
“You’ve been stopped before?”
“I drive a transit, you like stopping transits.”
“As you’re smoking, we need to wait 10 minutes to do a breathalyser.”
“Okay.”
“I can smell cannabis on you. Have you got any?”
“No, you can’t. No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Nice try. Good bluff. No. You. Can’t.”
“I can!”
“No. You. Can’t.”
So we all got chatting while we waited. I couldn’t keep up the attitude.
“Are you a musician? You’ve got a lot of speakers in the back.”
“No, that’s just my stereo.”
“What? They’re all wired up?”
They were quickly sorry that they’d asked. “Blah blah, kilowatts, amps, etc”
We were just four guys now, brandishing our technology.
“What’s all that kit you’re carrying? Is it all necessary?”
“You wouldn’t believe how heavy it all is.”
“Is that a gun? It’s a gun! Ah no, it’s a Taser?”
“No, this one is a Taser, that one is the gun.”
“Wow!”
Cop Two says, “I’ve got a gun too!”
Cop Three says, “I’ve got a Taser!” (Nobody was impressed.)
They weren’t a bad bunch of lads. We parted on good terms. They didn’t attempt to search the van.
I get pulled a lot, but I’ve never had an Armed Response Team before!
