Theoria

I’ll pretend that this post has some sort of ‘professional’ or ‘theoretical’ interest. It doesn’t, but I’ll pretend. Let’s call it a critique of contemporary police powers in the post-9/11 era (an era, by the way, which is clearly over: the “Creative Arts Emmys” — the ones for best key grip, transportation captain, make-up artist and whatever — were held on September 11 and the Starbucks by my old apartment in Toronto had a customer appreciation contest draw that day)…

Late Saturday morning, we found ourselves in a moment of general anxiety awaiting my parents to arrive at our temporary home (i.e., the cottage). Recognizing we were bored, we decided to go in the car and get crappy Tim Horton’s coffee in our future home town, Perth. Upon arriving in Perth, it was apparent that the Tim Horton’s was ridiculously busy (the new one at Gore Street/Rideau Ferry Road/Lanark County 1 and South Street/Lanark County 10). So we continued down through Perth (indirectly: onto South Street to Drummond to Foster and around to North by the old shoe factory and back down to Drummond and to Highway 7). Getting to Highway 7, we saw that the old Tim Horton’s was equally busy, so we detoured: drove to Balderson, then Lanark, on to some scarry road from Lanark to Ferguson Falls Road, and then back out to Highway 7 by the nice church. At this point, we started back towards Perth, driving just above the speed limit the whole time. I emphasize this point — we were wasting time and going out of our way to do so.

A couple kilometers past the passsing lane, we came upon a Lanark County OPP “cruiser” in the oncoming lane. The car immediately pulled on to the shoulder, waited a while and u-turned into our lane. It finally put its lights on and after a while, the SUV behind us finally pulled over and then we pulled over. Unfortunately, the SUV got to continue on its journey. We did not.

We had no idea what we had done this time. The last three times I’ve been pulled over, it was for burnt out lights. I haven’t been pulled over for speeding since grade eleven or twelve. Either I drive a lot less fast, or I’m better at it than I was years ago. Either way, speeding has not been a problem.

Turns out it was today.

As the cop approached, Mickey stuck his head out the window as he always does. The cop will always say, “Is he friendly?” We always want to say, “Not to cops”, but that will only cause problems. Mickey, in reality, is unnecessarily nice to everyone. Minnie, on the other hand, is not. Either she doesn’t like jackasses approaching our car from behind on the shoulder of a highway or she doesn’t like cops. She growled and barked. I don’t blame her. We’re I a dog, I’d do the same thing too.

“How fast do you think you were going?” “I know I was going 90, 95 at most.” The jackass smirks in the way only a jackass could, “I clocked [Blythe won't stop using that word now!] you doing 120.” “Well,” I said, “you’ve made an error. You have the wrong car. It is impossible that I was doing 120.” “Give me your licence and registration.” “I’d like to see your radar before I do so.” “Give me your licence and you can see it.” I get out my licence and registration, hand it to him, and open my door to get out to go see the radar. He yells at me, “Close the door.” I reply, “I thought you said I could see the radar?” “You can, but you are staying there.”

He went back to his Lanark County OPP “cruiser”. We sat there for a half hour. If not more. Finally, he returns. He explains that he’s given me a ticket for fifty-some dollars. I’m amazed — I’ve seen the signs: forty over gets you about $300.00. He tells me that he’s making a good deal; you see, he’ll kindly give me the benefit of the doubt and give me the ticket for the speed I admitted. He, nonetheless, writes on the ticket that the radar was 120. I was confused, I asked him how it could be that he could write that he “clocked” me at 120, but issue a ticket for 95. He legally does not have this discretion, and to do it in writing on a ticket is foolhardy at best.

We caught him: he was bullshitting the whole time. He’s just a jackass and he knew we found him out.

He pulls out a chart, “How much for forty over?” Forty over, I tell him, isn’t an issue as I was never doing that speed. Indeed, I’ve never done forty over in an eighty zone in my life. He points to the chart, “How much?” He then points to the ticket, “How much?” Clearly this man should have gone into used car sales. A true salesman. Must have a marketing degree from De Vry college — likely the County Fair Mall campus in Smiths Falls!

He gets increasingly belligerent while we remain calm. We ask to see the rader he promised to show us. “I don’t have to show you it. I erased it.” You mean, we say, that you destroyed the only evidence you have? “I’m a cop! Who is going to believe you?”, he yells. He keeps yelling. Blythe asks him to cease and desist his rude behavior. He tells us if we don’t like his behaviour that he will happily take the ticket back and he’ll give us one for forty over. We indicate this would be a very stupid thing to do. He gets even more angry and we remain calm. Blythe asks, “We don’t appreciate your conduct. Please give us forms, names, and contacts to make a complaint about you.” He tells us he won’t do any such thing. “Who do we call? *OPP? The local detachment? The commissioner of the police?” The wit of the century — by far wittier than, say, Ray Romano and just as low-brow — tells us to “call whoever you want; it won’t make a difference.” (I write it with a semi-colon; I’m sure he’s never seen one before.)

He storms away. He gets into his “cruiser”. He does another u-turn. He puts on his lights and goes to bother someone else.

I look forward to seeing the asshole in court. Yes, I’ll waste countless hours over $52. And, yes, we will hound this man until he has no career. We’re assholes too.

I know we’re assholes for two reasons. (1) Although we were, in fact, doing ten to fifteen over the limit, the ticket was for 120 reduced to 95 — a pseudo-crime I did not commit. This means that we are dealing with an injust act. Or, at least, a serious violation of procedural justice. And I, like all good freedom-loving citizens of Lanark County, place big value in justice, democracy and the rule of law. This will be contested. Police hours will be lost. Court hours will be wasted. And I’ll lose a lot of more productive time. But, I will be vindicated. (2) In order to protect my fellow citizens of Lanark County from jackass cops of the Lanark County O.P.P. detachment, we will be religiously keeping to the speed limit. So, if you are stuck behind a red Subaru doing the speed limit to the number on Highways 7 or 15, Lanark Roads 1 or 10, Old Kingston Road, (Old) Perth Road, or anywhere else captured in the general area ranging from Westport to Portland to Smiths Falls to Perth, then you are likely stuck behind me. But, friends, I do it for you: I don’t want you to get ticketed by a jackass cop.