Whatcha Gonna Do When They Come for You?

I’ll let you in on a little secret: I always get a little nervous when I see a police officer.

This is completely ridiculous, because I haven’t gotten so much as a speeding ticket since I was in my early 20s. But you know how my imagination is — If I happen to see a patrol car in my rearview mirror, my mind immediately begins flashing through a slideshow of possible (albeit highly unlikely) outcomes:

LINDSAY’S MIND: He’s going to pull me over because I didn’t signal before turning right a mile back. He’s going to get very angry because I’ll be so nervous that I won’t be able to find my registration amid the old receipts and fast food napkins stuffed in my glove box. He’s going to ARREST ME IN FRONT OF MY KIDS, OMG. AND THEY WILL BE TAKEN INTO TEMPORARY FOSTER CARE, WHERE GOD KNOWS WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THEM!! AND I WILL SPEND THE NIGHT IN THE CLINK UNTIL MY HUSBAND MANAGES TO GET ME OUT AT 3AM!! HHHNNNNHHH. HNNNNNHHHHH. HNNNNNHHHH. (That’s the sound of hyperventilation. Duh.)

By this time, I’ve slowed to 25 mph and am clutching my steering wheel, barely holding back a cascade of tears that I hope will win the cop’s sympathy once he pulls me over. Suddenly, the road widens to four lanes and the patrol car roars around me, leaving me in its dust. I breathe a sigh of relief… I managed to evade the po-po. YET AGAIN.

Of course, all this is silly, not to mention completely immature. Cops aren’t bad guys! Not if you’re following the law! Cops are here to protect us, not strip search us in full sight of everyone driving down Old Hickory Boulevard during rush hour! And so, in the spirit of facing my cop-o-phobia head on, I’ve made it a point lately to smile at police officers when I see them, and say hello. These men and women are keeping me safe! THANK GOD FOR COPS!

Or at least, thank God for most cops. I had an experience two days ago that set me back a good ten years in the cop-o-phobia department.

THE TIME: after school.

THE PLACE: Toys R Us.

My kids both have managed to save around 20 dollars each in their piggy banks over the last six months, and they’d gotten it in their heads that they needed to spend some of that cash at the toy store, ASAP. As we crossed the parking lot Wednesday afternoon, a cop car pulled into a spot directly in front of us. I didn’t think much of it, except to wonder if someone had shoplifted inside.

By the time we entered through the electric doors, the officer had caught up with us and was right behind us. My children turned right and ran down the half-aisle of toys that guides shoppers into the store. The cop went down the other side of the aisle. We came face to face at the end and made eye contact. I smiled, as one does who is not afraid of policemen, and said “Hello.”

He didn’t smile back. Instead, he raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

What the hell?

At that point, I didn’t have much time to think about this strange turn of events, because my children had taken off in a gallop all the way to the other side of the store. I run-walked after them. The cop, I could see out of the corner of my eye, was following close behind me.

This was getting weird.

I raced past two employees setting up a new display and caught up with my children, the officer hot on my trail. “Can I help you, sir?” one of the employees asked as he passed them.

“I’m not sure yet,” he replied in a hardened tone. He stopped right beside us at the Skylander display and gave the toys a cursory glance. Skylander, if you’re not familiar with it, is a Wii game my kids are crazy about right now. Once you buy a Skylander action figure (and there are dozens) you can put it on your “portal of power” and actually play in the Wii game as that character.  The game is designed with children in mind, and I had trouble believing that this stone-faced policeman was a fan.

He paused there beside us for a second or two and then abruptly turned and walked away. Obviously, he hadn’t come to Toys R Us looking for Skylanders. He had followed us in and rushed to keep up with us as my kids ran the length of the store. And that left me to ponder one question as my kids, oblivious to the mortal danger we were in, pattered away about Drobot and Trigger Happy.

What in the name of Thundercat was going on?

Covertly, I looked around the store, half expecting to see the cop peering out at me from behind a Strawberry Shortcake display, gun drawn… but the man was nowhere in sight.

“I’m getting this one and this one!” my son said, holding out two Skylander figures.

“Great,” I said shakily. “On to the Barbies!”

We walked over to the Barbie  aisle and my daughter began the drawn-out process of trying to choose one out of the dozens up for sale. Meanwhile, I had started to sweat, and my stomach had begun churning. Why had a cop FOLLOWED US INTO THE STORE?! Why was he SO MAD?! What on earth could I possibly have done wrong? The most likely scenario was that he’d seen me unknowingly break some sort of traffic rule and was going to tell me off about it– but that seemed highly unlikely since I’d driven through a chain of three different strip malls to get to the toy store. Did cops even care about rolling stops in parking lots? I didn’t think so.

No, this had to be something far more serious. I racked my brain trying to think of any laws I had broken recently. Had he found out that I sometimes park my car outside my house facing in the wrong direction? That was all I could come up with. “It’s a cul-de-sac, for heaven’s sake!” I imagined pleading as the cop handcuffed me. And speaking of handcuffs, WHERE HAD HE GONE?! I walked to the end of the aisle and peeped around the corner. Nothing. By now, he was probably out in the parking lot, calling for backup.

“Have you chosen a Barbie yet, Punky?” I asked impatiently, a single bead of sweat running down the side of my face.

“I’ve narrowed it down to six,” she told me.

I shifted from one foot to the other. Part of me wanted to hide in the Barbie aisle forever, but a bigger part wanted to go out to the parking lot and confront the dozen police officers who were surely waiting for me in SWAT gear.

“Whatever it is you think I did, I’m pretty sure I didn’t do it!” I’d shout bravely, before becoming tangled in a net dropped from a police helicopter. Suddenly, I was interrupted from my dark reverie by a voice.

“Hi Lindsay!”

Startled, I looked up to find a mom friend gazing at me.

“Oh hi, Jane,” I said nervously. “How are you?”

“Good,” she said, giving me a questioning look. “Just shopping for birthday presents.”

“Oh,” I said, very, very calmly. “Well, it’s so nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too,” she said. She ambled off, casting back a worried look before she was out of sight.

Could this day GET any worse?  Jane was a prolific Facebooker, and I could only imagine what her status update would look like an hour from now.

Ran into @LindsayFerrier at Toys R Us. Wonder why she was Tasered in the parking lot?

OMGOMGOMG. My stomach lurched.

“Are you ready yet?!” I hissed at my daughter, and then immediately felt bad. This might be the last time I saw my kids for a long, long time. Fortunately, both were oblivious to my terror. Punky triumphantly held up a Ballerina Barbie and we made our way to the cash register. As I handed the cashier the kids’ allowance money, I stole a few glances at the parking lot outside. No sign of the cop. But that didn’t mean anything. He was likely standing just around the corner of the store along with a pack of officers in riot gear, all waiting for the signal to TAKE ME DOWN.

“Come on, kids!” I said with false brightness. If this was it, I could at least go out with a reassuring smile on my face, thus shaving a few months off the ensuing years of therapy they’d face as a result of whatever-it-was-that-was-about-to-happen. We all headed out to the parking lot, hand in hand in hand. It was silent outside, except for the sound of my beating heart. I braced myself, preparing to be wrestled to the ground and beaten with a nightstick, but shockingly, nothing happened. The space where the cop had parked was empty. He’d left. All was clear.

For now, anyway.

I’ve thought a lot since then about what’s become known in my mind as THE INCIDENT. The realist in me wants to believe that this officer was simply having a bad day, and to hope that I’ll never see him again. But come on. This is Suburban Turmoil. Chances are excellent that he’ll turn up again from time to time, nosing around at my children’s birthday parties with a K-9 dog, popping out from behind planters at the mall, glaring at me menacingly over menus in restaurants, and generally making my life a living hell until I slip up and give him an actual reason to arrest me.

In the meantime, rest assured that I’m never making eye contact with a police officer again! Oh, and one more thing:

If I happen to end up in the slammer soon, rally behind me, loyal readers. Whatever it is I’m in there for, I didn’t do it!

Yet.

 

 

Image via Jo Naylor/Flickr