As soon as I saw the flashing blue lights in the rear view mirror, I looked around to see what car might have been the offending vehicle.  I saw no other car.

I was certain it wasn’t my car that was being pulled over — I wasn’t going more than 36 or 37 miles per hour in a 35 mph zone.  Perhaps my tail light wasn’t working.  Whatever the case, I knew that the prudent course of action to take at that juncture involved pulling to the side of the road and allowing the police officer to do his duty.  I have nothing but total respect for law enforcement officials — it’s a tough job and overall they handle it quite well.

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I lowered my window as the officer walked toward my car.  The officer, wearing a hat with the brim pulled down so that it sat just above the shade-covered eyes, was female.  When she reached my window, she whipped out her pistol and yelled, “Freeze, trash!”

“Pardon?” I asked.

“I said freeze, trash!” she repeated.

I recognized that voice.  It couldn’t be she.

“I’m, uh, I’m frozen,” I stammered.

“Put your hands above your head,” she ordered.

“Yes ma’am,” I said, quickly complying.

“Now get out of your vehicle,” she commanded.

I reached for the door handle.

“Freeze!” she yelled.  “I said to put your hands above your head.  Keep them there.”

“How am I to open the door to get out of my car?” I asked in a calm voice.

“Don’t you try to be smart with me, young man.  I know your type.  Now get out.”

With my hands still above my head, I climbed out the car window.  It wouldn’t have been so bad except I tripped and landed flat on my face.  My hands remained above my head the entire time, however.

“Now put your hands on the car.  Move slowly, mister, or I’ll pump you so full of lead that they’ll paint you yellow and write a big number two on your forehead.”

I was certain of the identity of this officer.