When the cop is there and you have no idea- Priceless

Actual skids from the car.

Actual skids from the Dodge.

Today I was minding my own business as I sat at a red light. The sun had just dipped below the horizon as dusk descended on the area. My windows were down and the late summer breeze felt good.

When the light turned green, I coasted into the intersection with no particular place to go. I was just going to cruise around and enjoy a drive through the city. That’s when a large cloud of smoke caught my eye off to my right on a street that paralleled the one I was on.

The cloud was getting larger by the second as it surrounded a red Dodge Charger. The burn out seemed to last forever and was actually kind of impressive to watch.

I made a right turn on the side street to go talk to the driver about his lack of common sense. As soon as the driver saw me his tires quit spinning, but the cloud of burned rubber floated with the afternoon breeze toward my car.

After I stopped the car I walked up and asked the driver, “Were you having some type of medical problem that made your foot press down on the gas pedal like that?”

“No.”

“How old are you?”

“26.”

I held up my hands as I asked, “Why?”

“I was being stupid,” the driver said as he put his head down on his steering wheel.

His license showed an address that was far away from where we were, so I asked him how he ended up on this particular street. The driver replied he was going to a local club around the corner and he wanted to test out his new car. He told me he picked this street because no one was around.

I was amazed by his honesty. I also appreciated how he picked a street with no cars, businesses or homes to practice his speed skills on. I told the driver, “You did a dumb thing, but you were smart about it. I appreciate that.”

He gave me half a smile and didn’t say anything.

“What did you say when you saw me?” I asked.

“I said F#@K!”

“I would’ve said the same thing. Did you know you’re going to be my next blog story?”

“I didn’t know you had a blog.”

“I do and this story is too good to pass up.”

A records check showed that the driver was very experienced in the traffic ticket world. I walked back to him and asked, “How many tickets have you had?”

“Probably 7.”

“Well, today you’re only getting a ticket for not having the insurance paper in the car. Is that better than another mover?”

The driver let out of huge sigh of relief as his entire body relaxed. He stuck out his right hand and offered to shake mine. I shook his hand and told him I hope he understood what a huge break I was giving him.

He said, “I know. Thank you.”

After he signed the ticket I said, “Out of all the cops you’ve ever spoken to, was I the best?”

He laughed as he said, “Yes.”

I gave him his copy and offered my left fist as I said, “Give me knuckles.”

He fist bumped me with a smile and I walked away wondering why every person couldn’t be like that guy. Life would be so much easier if they were.

Mom of the year (NOT)

Brain on drugs

It’s not every day you get to meet the worst mom of the year. Actually, she’s pregnant, so she’s really the “future worst mom of the year.”

I’ve met some bad mothers in my time as an officer, but this latest one deserves mentioning. I got to meet her at an unknown trouble call the other day where people were possibly fighting at a house.

When I arrived, I parked a few houses down. There was a woman outside where I parked and she asked if everything was alright.

I said, “We don’t know yet. We’re going to a house down the street.”

“It must be the drug house,” she said with a smirk.

“Which house are you talking about?”

“The green one,” She replied.

Yep. She was talking about the house we were going to. When we got to the green house, the “future mom of the year” was contacted by other officers at the front door. She came outside and I spoke to her to try and figure out what happened.

She was in her early twenties and didn’t make sense. I started to wonder if she was stealing oxygen from the rest of us or if she had other issues.

After about five minutes, I was sure she was an oxygen thief. She was the perfect example of the old “This is your brain on drugs” commercials.

I asked her when she last took speed. She said, “Recently.” She wasn’t tweaking now, but I’m sure “recently” meant today.

I continued to waste my time with her as I tried to find out what happened when she told me she was pregnant. I have no idea why she brought that up because I didn’t ask. I then asked her how far along she was. She would only tell me she was a few weeks pregnant.

I’m asked her how long she had been doing speed. At this point, she figured out she said too much. She told me it didn’t have anything to do with the reason why we were there. She also told me it wasn’t any of my business.

I walked over to where her mother was and asked if her daughter was pregnant. The soon to be grandma said her daughter was one month pregnant. I also asked her how long her daughter had been doing methamphetamine. The woman said her daughter had been doing speed for about a year.

I asked her if she had ever spoken to her daughter about drug use and being pregnant. The woman said her daughter told her to mind her own business.

I asked if she knew who the “baby’s daddy” was. This caused the woman to smile. I said, “I just like saying the phrase baby’s daddy,” which caused her to laugh.

She said, “His name is Frog.”

“Frog? As in not a prince?”

“I only know him as Frog. He’s short.”

Well, where do you go in a conversation after hearing the Baby’s Daddy is Frog?

Let’s just hope this kid isn’t born looking like a frog because of her drug use. It’s a shame because this kid has no chance.

By the way, I called child protective services to about this. They told me they don’t take reports unless the child is already born. Oh well, I tried.