Read My Shirt And My Rights

When I was younger, I used to work at a gas station. This gas station sat off one exit to a roundabout, with the exit opposite this one having a grocery store right next to it. 

One evening (at around 8 pm), I got off work, got into my car, drove off the gas station lot, into the roundabout, out onto the road on the opposite side, and straight into the grocery store parking lot.

A car pulls into the parking space directly next to mine, but I don’t pay it any attention, grabbing my purse and basket. When I step outside the vehicle, I get stopped by the two men in the other car. That’s when I notice they’re wearing police uniforms and the car is a blue-and-white police car.

Officer #1: “Good evening; random traffic check.”

We’re already in a parking lot, but fine. I guess it doesn’t matter if they stop you in the street somewhere or in a parking lot.

Me: “Yes?”

Officer #2: “Can we see your driver’s license and car registration?”

Me: “Sure.”

It’s winter, so it’s pretty dark despite the lights around the parking lot, and the officer has to shine his flashlight into my purse so that I can find my license among all the other cards. While he is looking at my license, I hand him the other one, my car paperwork.

Officer #1: “And where are you going today?”

Me: “I’m getting groceries?”

This should be obvious, since I parked at the grocery store before I was even aware of this cop car.

Officer #2: “And where did you just come from?”

Me: “Work.”

Officer #1: “And where is that?”

I am wearing jeans and a bright red jumper with the gas station name and logo on it in white. I’m even still wearing the name tag. I simply point at the gas station across the street, where giant red flags with the white name/logo and the price signs are on display.

They handed me back my stuff and let me go on, and I never found out if they were just bored or looking for someone with my type of car or what. They were gone by the time I came back out of the store.