A guy I went to college with becomes a local cop. We stay friends for years after graduation, getting together now and then for dinner and drinks.

When the riots begin over racist cops, he stops coming out, opting to either come to my house or invite me to his. Every time we get together, he tells me about how people are spitting on him, screaming at him, and calling him names, despite him never having done anything to merit their behavior. As time went on, he is less and less available. I figure he is working more or being more cautious.

Finally, one day, I call to set up our next dinner and a recording says the number isn’t accepting calls. I go to his social media and ask when he wants to get together.

Me: “Dinner this week?”

Friend: “No.”

Me: “Everything all right? I tried to call you.”

Friend: “We need to talk.”

Me: “Okay…?”

Friend: “You need to grow up.”

He also sends a screenshot of my page. It shows a post that says, “If a few bad cops do not represent all cops, a few bad black men do not represent all black men.”

Me: “I think we have a misunderstanding. That post is telling people not to make assumptions.”

He read the message and blocked me. I guess he didn’t want to talk after all.

I am walking from an airsoft shop looking at the folder they gave me about owning a non-lethal weapon, as I am a first-time buyer and I got a pistol. I still have it in the box. A few moments later a woman comes up to me.

Woman: “You are putting me in danger carrying that around! Give that to me!”

She tries to reach for my air-gun! I back up.

Me: “Hey! What are you doing!?”

Woman: “You are endangering everyone here carrying that around, besides, it is illegal for a child to own a gun!”

Me: “Did you even notice the thirty-page-long binder with a clearly-written name called ‘laws about owning a non-lethal weapon’?”

 A nearby police car is driving past. She starts shouting at it and flags it down.

Police Officer: “What is wrong?”

Woman: “That boy threatened to shoot me with that gun! Take him to the station!”

The police officer notices the box and the binder.

Police Officer: “He is literally carrying a binder about gun laws and proper handling of non-lethal weapons, and I do not think he has telekinesis to shoot you with a gun still in the box.”

The police officer asks for the box, takes it, and shows her the contents.

Police Officer: “Do you see any bullets or ammunition of any kind in here? Leave him alone.”

Woman: *Fury intensifies* “I am going to report you to your commanding officer! And you! *Points at me* “You will be put in jail!”

I decide to just walk away to the distant shouts of a very angry woman.

A girl comes in and grabs a drink. She starts approaching the counter, but instead of getting in line, she just walks behind the counter like she works there, or owns the place. She grabs a pack of Newports and strolls out.

Me: “You can’t be back there, and need you to pay for that!”

She just walks out like she can’t hear me and it’s normal to just take what you want and go home.

I follow her out. I probably shouldn’t, and the boss will probably talk to me about it, but I am angry. I approach her, reach out and grab the box out of her hand there in the parking lot.

Thief: *Yelling* “I’m the Tasmanian devil, I can do whatever I want!”

I just walk around to the front door (the side door locks behind you) and she’s following me, still calling herself the Tasmanian devil. She tries to follow me in.

Me: “You’re not allowed back here.”

She stands in the entrance blocking the door screaming random “Tasmanian Devil” stuff at me. I want her to go away, so I call the cops. She honestly seemed unhinged and I am alone at that moment and a little scared. She’s yelling, but as soon as she realizes I’m calling the cops she takes off.

A few minutes later a police car pulls up, and the officers ask me what happened. While talking, they get a report that someone found her a few blocks away.

Officer: “Will you go identify her?”

My coworker is back at that point and says it’s okay, so I jump in the police car. We pull up to see her talking to an officer. The officers get out of the car and she bolts. She starts sprinting faster than any smoker should run. So the officers get back in the car, turn on the sirens and speed after her for a few blocks with me in the back seat! 

They cuff her and ask for ID. She refuses to tell who she is. They get her in the back of the other cop car, and search their system for the “Tasmanian Devil.” Her picture pops up on the screen. Turns out she’s a serial shoplifter.

So, all-in-all, quite an adventure for an $8 pack of Newports!

Our small police force doesn’t have animal control on our base, but we usually only deal with the occasional stray dog and missing animal. Not today.

We get a call that one of the busiest roads in our small town is being blocked because a huge snapping turtle has taken up residence in the middle of the road and refuses to move for anyone.

My fellow officer uses his nightstick to push the turtle off the road. Just as he gets to the grass, this HUGE snapping turtle shoots his neck out at lightning speeds and grabs the nightstick out of his hand, and it starts waddling off into the woods.

Two seconds later, I hear the officer key up the microphone.

Officer: “11-10, be advised, suspect is now armed and attempting to flee.”

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There’s a stop sign around the corner from my house that many people, myself included, roll through because both cross streets are very quiet with little traffic. One is a dead-end that I have never seen anyone pulling out of in my twenty-four years of living here.

Coming home from the store one day, I make my usual “stop,” turn onto my street, and pull into my driveway. As I shut the car off, I notice there is a cop with his lights on parked in front of my driveway. My driveway is quite long, so there’s some distance between us. I’m not entirely sure what to do, since I’m technically already pulled over and parked, and I don’t want to just exit the vehicle unprompted. But the cop doesn’t move or get out, either.

Finally, I decide to just open my door.

Me: “Is there a problem?”

Officer: “That stop sign?”

Me: “I probably rolled through it; you’re right.”

Officer: “So, you’re not trying to pull over for me?”

Me: *Confused* “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you until I pulled into the driveway.”

Officer: “Yeah, I know.”

Me: *More confused* “I… I live here. I was parked before I even saw your car.”

Officer: *Sarcastic* “Well, I’m trying to conduct this traffic stop.”

I have no idea what he wants from me right now. He’s given me no instructions, just sarcasm.

Me: “Do you want me to back up, or stay here, or…?”

Officer: “License and registration, please.”

I got back in my car, got my things, and took them to the officer’s car. The rest of the stop was fairly uneventful. He didn’t ticket me, but it was the weirdest and rudest traffic stop I’d ever been a part of. I understand it was awkward because I happen to have gotten pulled over at my house, but I’d have been happy to comply had he given me instructions instead of insinuating I was disobeying him from the start.