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<\/a><\/p>\nI was on a grocery run to Walmart. I had two-year-old Sally with me and was visibly pregnant with Bobby. Sean was still at work, and it was winter so it was dark out even though it wasn\u2019t all that late. I parked, went into the store, and filled a\u00a0cart with eggs, milk, flour, and other things we needed. As I finished checking out, I heard the loudspeaker asking for someone with the same name as my husband to come out to his car, because there was a problem. And then I realized\u2014the loudspeaker was calling for me, because our car was in my husband\u2019s name. I hurried out to the car wondering what could have happened.<\/p>\n
There, at the car, was a police officer and an older woman. The officer informed me that I had hit the other woman\u2019s car, which was directly in front of my car in the next spot, when parking. I was doubtful, though careful to be polite and deferential. The officer showed me the bumpers of the car, which appeared, in the darkness, to be touching, or nearly so. I assured him that I had not felt any impact when parking. The car had not rolled back, or jerked, or anything\u2014nothing had felt out of the ordinary. Again I was careful to be polite and deferential, but I was growing increasingly frightened by the officer\u2019s demeanor. He was antagonistic, he clearly didn\u2019t believe me, and he looked ready to book me. The vibes coming from him surprised me. I was afraid. I had never been afraid of a police officer before. Sally shivered in the grocery cart beside me, wrapped snugly in her coat but still cold in the winter weather.<\/p>\n
Satisfied that everyone had gotten a good look at the cars\u2019 bumpers, the officer told the other woman to pull her car back a few feet. He then had each of us inspect her bumper, using his flashlight. There was not a scratch, not a dent, not a mark\u2014nothing. The officer grudgingly admitted that I had not actually hit the woman\u2019s car.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf there had been even the smallest scratch,\u201d he told me, \u201cI would be taking you downtown right now for\u00a0a hit and run.\u201d<\/p>\n
The officer was very clearly\u00a0disappointed that he could not arrest me. I puzzled over this for weeks afterwards, because it shocked me. This man wanted a reason to arrest me, and I could not understand why. I still don\u2019t understand why, but I remember how shaken I was as I watched the officer walk away. I wondered what would have happened to Sally if he had arrested me. Would she have ridden with me downtown in the officer\u2019s car? Would they have tried to locate hy husband? Would social services have been called?<\/p>\n
I was shaking as I loaded Sally and the groceries into our\u00a0car. I cried\u2014sobbed\u2014as I drove to pick Sean up from work. I called my sister in tears, because I absolutely had to talk to someone, I felt so sick. I\u2019m kind of surprised I didn\u2019t throw up. As I\u2019m typing this now, there are tears running down my cheeks from simply\u00a0remembering\u2014and reliving\u2014the emotions I experienced. I was so<\/em> shaken.<\/p>\nOf course, some of this was the doing of the woman who called the cops\u2014the owner of the other car. She\u00a0was very very<\/em> angry herself, and had called the officer out on a cold evening solely on the basis of her bumper and my bumper being so close they looked like they were touching. There was no dent, nothing was smashed, and as we\u00a0saw when she eventually pulled her car forward there wasn\u2019t even a scratch or the tiniest mark. She said she was upset because she couldn\u2019t load her groceries into her trunk, but then it\u2019s rarely easy to load your groceries into your trunk when you back in, as she had. She probably gave the officer an earful and that may have contributed to his mood. But that didn\u2019t make how he treated me okay\u2014he was the professional.<\/p>\nI really don\u2019t have anything to complain about, I realize that. I\u2019m white, educated, and middle class. I\u2019m at very low risk of being harassed or harmed by the police. I\u2019m not trying to tell some sort of \u201cwoe is me\u201d sob story when so many people have it far, far worse. I\u2019m also not saying that all police officers are like this. What I am saying is that this very unpleasant brush with police has helped me understand what the people in Ferguson and elsewhere are talking about.<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Almost three years ago I had a severely unpleasant experience with a police officer that left me completely shaken. Up until this point, I’d been given no reason to distrust cops. Ever since this moment, though, I’ve understood why many people have their reservations. If I could have an experience like this—and I’m white, educated, and middle class—I can’t imagine how much worse it must be for those who are black, or poor, or in another marginalized group. As protests continue in Ferguson, my mind has gone back to this experience, and how it affected me. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":845,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[112],"tags":[438],"class_list":["post-23070","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-social-justice","tag-police"],"yoast_head":"\n
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