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Enforcement
Between the regular warnings that your personal property is no longer personal when you ride with the MTA, and the weekly police “drills” to get us used to seeing thirty or more police cars swarm to locations throughout the city, things are feeling much more 1984 around here.
Last night, I heard a cop scream from his loudspeaker, “PULL OVER THE CAR. … TAKE THE KEYS OUT OF THE IGNITION AND PUT THEM ON THE HOOD… NOW!”
Since when is it standard operating procedure to demand the keys placed on the hood?
I was too preoccupied watching and listening to get a good shot of the interaction, but it ended with …nothing. Not even a ticket for the cabbie. And unfortunately, since the cop stopped talking through his loudspeaker, I don’t know the details.
Sometimes it feels like they just stop people because they can. And needless to say, I don’t like that.
Last Saturday, I was coming home tired from a visit to my mother (on Staten Island). And as anyone who has to ride the ferry somewhat regularly knows, by the end of a long day, after sitting with idiots on the boat, then finding a subway closure and a longer walk than expected, you just want to get home.
So as I was schlepping three bags at a fairly good clip through the underground paths at Union Square, I was surprised to hear a police officer shout after me, “Ma’m.” Again, “…Ma’m.” And finally, with gusto, “……Ma’m!”
It seemed that he was expecting me to stop, especially since just a moment before I’d seen another three women stopped for a bag check. But this was not how my night was going to end. I’m not voluntarily turning around so this jackass can make sure I’m “safe”. It was on him to stop me, and he’d have to make a real issue of it to catch up.
So I kept on walking.
And since, in some ways, I’m still a good little sheep, I thought I should do something to make me look as innocent as I really am. So I took out the gum I’d been chewing and deposited it neatly into the garbage as I passed it, still not stopping.
There, asshole. I’m a good, non-littering citizen. But you’re NOT going to touch my bag.
