Join Me in Snarkville

When I was little (like 4 years old), if asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d tell anyone that I wanted to be a policelady in order to lock up all the bad people in this world.

Oh how I would dream that I’d take down some bad person, someone who had hurt someone else — because frankly to the 4 year old me and the 33 year old me, I can not fathom a greater crime than to hurt another person on purpose. So, I wanted to stamp out all the badness in this world and I felt that being a policewoman was the only way to do that. I also thought that being a policewoman would be a glamorous life because clearly I’d watched too much CHiPs.
I put that dream on the back burner and tried to decide between all the other things I wanted to be: an architect, a banker, a teacher, President, a buyer… the list is endless. But I grew up and left those dream careers behind.

Then today. Today, I took Duke out on errands. We were heading to the last stop of the morning and to get there I had to make a left hand turn. It was raining (hey, it’s winter here) and I was stopped in a long line of cars. We waited for the light to turn green. There was a LOUD noise and my head fell forward a bit. CRAP, I think we’ve been hit. In a single motion, I put the car in park, throw my hazards on, ask Duke if he’s ok and tell him to stay put, and grabbed my cell phone. I step out of my car into the rain. The guy walks up wide eyed and says:

I no speak English. PLEASE, don’t call the cops.

“That’s nice,” I say, “I’m on the phone with the police, I’ll get back to you in a minute.” I report the accident. I inform the police department that this guy is begging me not to call them and thus, I’m calling them. I do all the right things, as I was taught to do. I make sure everyone is ok — we are, no one is hurt. I check the car for damage — none visible on mine; but his bumper looks pushed WAY in. I find a crayon and paper and take down his plate number. I call Prince at work and tell him what is going on. I do not give in; I’m waiting for the police.

We wait. The other guy is getting increasingly annoying to me. He’s begging me as if I can just call the police back and say “Opps, I’m sorry this accident I reported is no big deal.” The more he begs, the more angry I get. “Dude, you HIT me. You hit my car with my *SON* inside. You have offered me no identification or even an apology, just the begging of ‘please, please, please.’ I heard that you say you have no job and I’m betting you have no insurance either. I also notice that you smell very much badly and I really hope you’d step out of my personal space, as you are making me uncomfortable.” And we wait.

In an attempt to crawl back into my car to get dry, get warm, and to get this guy out of my personal space, I suggested (read: made it VERY clear we were going to clear the roadway and go to the closest parking lot and he was GOING to follow me) we move the cars. At that point, I neither spoke to him; nor got out of my warm car without the policewoman there.

Policewoman number 1 shows up and begins the normal accident questioning, starting with him and asking for ID. At that point, yes, question number one, all of it hit the fan. You see I was forgotten from that point on. I stood in the rain with my license, my registration, and my proof of insurance (pretty sure those were the only versions of those three items between the two cars in the accident) ready to show the nice lady — but I wasn’t asked. Instead there was much discussion about this guy’s name, his reason for having the car, and if the owner of the car could pick up the car from impound. Utoh!

Policewoman number 2 shows up. In a minute, I have both cops in front of me explaining that he has no license and that driving without a license is a misdemeanor but they were not present to witness him driving without a license and thus I’d have to put him under citzen’s arrest so they could write the citation. Now at this point, I thought he was still looking at a ticket for the accident and I say, Yes, I will fill out whatever you need me to in order to get him cited with all the various things he did wrong, and while we are at it, is it illegal to wear that shirt with those pants? because he should be ticketed for that too; and bad taste in cars and for not putting deodorant on this morning…

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. I hear the 4 year old me saying, “I want to be a policelady” in my head. I hear her and think, I’m about to sign something with the word ARREST on it. Wow. I’m a little overwhelmed. About the time I grow back up in my brain, I turn around to see policewoman 2 and policewoman 3 cuffing the guy who hit me. Seriously, I am hearing them reading him his rights. I had a fleeting thought, “Is this what a citzen’s arrest is? Because if it is, this is cool and maybe I should do this more often. Or maybe I should be over there doing something official because I’m putting him under citizen’s arrest.” Then I hear, “he has an outstanding warrant.”

Oh my word — I just citizen’s arrested a felon or maybe a guy with a record, or maybe a guy who jumped bail, or maybe he failed to appear for a traffic ticket — who knows — but I know from all the cop shows I watch that if the cuffs go on, it is pretty good bet that you are in TROUBLE.

Here’s all I know: his car is being impounded for 30 days. He was last seen headed off to the station for confirmation of his identity (in the back of a police car WITH cuffs on) — seems that what stopped any major questioning of me is that this guy had NO identification. And I filled out the paperwork for a citzen’s arrest and will probably have to go to court to attest to what I saw.

Most shocking thing about today’s incident: the fact the guy didn’t run when we moved the cars. Either he is exceedingly honest and isn’t the guy with the warrant with the same name and description OR he is exceedingly dumb. I’m betting on the latter, you?

Biggest question from the day: Is it wrong to want a copy of the arrest form to frame as a testament to fulfilling my childhood dream?

Now, off to figure out how to run President without becoming a politician, next.