License And Recognition

After college, I lived in the same town for a while. I was only two hours away from my hometown, so I frequently made trips back and forth. On one trip back, I was stopped by Highway Patrol half a mile from my exit, and here is that exchange.

Officer: “Do you know why I pulled you over, BOY?”

Me: “I’m not sure, man. Why?”

I swear I recognize this guy.

Officer: “License and registration, BOY!”

Me: *Complies.*

Officer: “You get in trouble a lot, BOY? I know I’ve seen you before, BOY!”

I finally see the nameplate, and it clicks.

Me: “Why did you pull me over, Scott?”

Officer: “How do you know me, BOY?”

Me: “[High school], Panthers, Class of ’99? We graduated together, dude. That’s why I look familiar.”

Officer: *Awkward stare-down.* “…I’ll be back in a minute, BOY!”

He wrote me a ticket for my expired tags, which I deserved, and it was worth it to have him stop shouting BOY at me and let me get home finally.