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Me Vs. Cop – Part II

In Part I we left off with a cop yelling at me to pull over on my bicycle. I had just blown through a red light.

The policedick appeared out of nowhere and ordered me to stop. At 7:30am on my bicycle. He was a stereotypical Chicago cop. The southside accent, the reflective aviator sunglasses that even hipsters don’t wear. And, oh yeah, he had a terrible mustache and was overweight.

Now, I know none of this is shocking to you, but just you wait! He was also a massive dick! Oh yeah! Try to suspend your disbelief.

He waddles out of the car with impressive speed for a man of his husk. Fuming mad he yells/screams, “I told you not to go! I told you!”

So, here’s what happened. Apparently while I was waiting at the light to turn yellow, there was a cop parked at a gas station which was right next to me. I’ve blown through that light hundreds of times in the past. I never thought to look for a police car because I didn’t think road rules applied to bikers. I mean, if you get hit, you’re probably going to die and all. So, the need for bike laws seems kind of silly.

While I was sitting there counting the seconds the cop noticed what I was about to do. He got on that bullhorn thing and said, “Don’t do it. Do not do that.” Well, I was pounding away to something hard and fast in the earbuds. I have those really nice ones that expand in your ear canal and block out all sound. I didn’t hear him, nor was I ever expecting anyone to speak to me while waiting at that stoplight.

He goes off for a good minute about  disrespectful  I was to his wishes, I did the only sensible thing you can do when you’re being yelled at by a community college dropout. I let him win. I did the, “Oh, I’m new to the city, didn’t know that light had an arrow, just jumped it accidentally, sorry officer, won’t happen again!”

Truth is I had lived in Chicago for ten years. By the way, I’m dripping sweat and exhausted.  While my  patience was starting to wear thin, I just kept my mouth closed.  I didn’t think anything would happen other than a stern lecture. I was wrong.

I need to see your license.

Uh… hmm… I guess I do have it somewhere.

I’ll be right back.

He disappeared into his car and started punching up his computer. I figured he just wanted to see if I had warrants or anything. Clearly he would find out I haven’t had any sort of traffic violation in almost fifteen years and send me on my way. But the son of a bitch comes back with a yellow slip of paper.

Okay, I wrote you a ticket for illegally crossing through a red light. You can pay the fine or appeal before a judge. I am keeping your license.

Wait. What do you mean you’re taking my license?

This ticket will suffice as your license until such time as you resolve the infraction.

Do you need a license to drive a bike?

Uh – no.

Well, what would have happened if I didn’t have my license?

I would have taken you down to the station until you posted bond.

You do good work, officer.

— fin —

Okay, I didn’t say that last line. By the way, the ticket was for $150. Plus, this would go against my insurance. Can you imagine that my rates go up because I got a misdemeanor on my Cannondale? Also, I think they have some wacky points system here that I didn’t want to know anything about. This is a bonafide moving violation.

I was so pissed I nearly yelled, “Somewhere a rapist is laughing hysterically!” But I didn’t because, unlike him, I decided that would not be the best use of my time.

I am sooooooooooooooooooooo proud of how I tied those two sentences together!

I swear I am not trying to drag this out. This was meant to be one post, and I guess it will have to finish tomorrow with part III. I hope you’re not as bored as I fear.

This is EXACTLY what my guy looked like. Ironically, he’s surrounded by other cop bicyclists who, I’m convinced, stop zero crime. It’s just not the same when you try to catch a bank robber on a Schwinn.

photo credit: Michael Kappel via photopin cc

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