Generally they hang out in little highly-visible packs on the busier pedestrian intersections and take turns verbally pulling over cyclists who fail to dismount in the designated zones. They have zip-ties instead of handcuffs, they are made to wear ridiculous janitorial-esque outfits, their average age is probably right around 21, and they land somewhere between meter-maid and Paul Blart, on the respect spectrum. So look, I know they're probably wholesomely-intentioned kids aspiring to a life of real-world heroism someday policing the bad guys with their very own squad car. But this doesn't mean I can't silently mock them a little bit. And the thing is, they are so laughably simple to avoid that it's an easily-indulged schadenfreude to watch them playing "cops-n'-robbers" with the poor dumb schmucks who they actually manage to nab and ticket.
(*sigh* They grow up so fast.)
***
Billy Blades and I have offices in the same U-Billy building, meaning that despite my generally-swift skulking through the public spaces, I see him incidentally more days than not, because probability and luck and timing and just FML. One day, as I started off on my bike toward home, I happened to spy him walking on the sidewalk away from our building. It was late in the afternoon and campus was virtually empty to the point I'd unconsciously assumed there was nobody still around to even run into, and so I was momentarily flustered by my sudden recognition of him there ahead of me.
I noticed a little bit of a slow shuffle in his step.
Aw, he looks tired, I thought. Or kinda bummed.
I'm a person who tends to notice these sorts of things, and then has a hard time ignoring them. This used to lead to That Crying Girl at the Bar hugging me (sometimes inescapably) in club restrooms in my twenties, and nowadays tends to result in having my ear bent at all hours by friends of both genders needing a prod toward laughter about the latest bullshit in their lives. And so I considered, for a split-second, just socially chatting as our paths crossed, since even though we're not exactly chummy, the guy's not a total stranger and we're all human and I've long held that you can never be just plain good to too many folks.
Maybe he had a shitty long day.
Maybe people, as people sometimes are, were mildly, gratingly awful to him at work today.
Maybe he just needed a friendly smile.
(Because why not? (and also, ulterior motives))
And then, like a cynically closed-off and/or non-crazy-person, I nixed those socially-inclined notions and pedaled on past, resurfacing from my little Billy Blades friendly-conversation reverie to the sound of someone calling out.
"Miss! Hey miss, stop... please?"
The 'please' sounded like a hesitant question, like some kind of a joke setup. One glance over my shoulder and the punchline materialized like a low-grade nightmare, huffing and puffing toward me earnestly on his university-issued velocipede. Billy Blades is presumably still ambling along behind me, possibly (if there is any mercy on this godforsaken fucking Earth) unaware that the two-second distraction that was his mere presence on the left side of the street had caused me to completely fail to observe the gaggle of Enforcyclists that was congregated on the right, breezing through a stop sign right in front of them with nary a thought to braking.
And so it came to pass, at an hour when aforementioned characters were pretty much the only traffic left on the street, that *I* became one of those morons who somehow got pulled over by the U-Billy Bike Patrol. Literally right in front of Billy Blades.
God fucking dammit.
(Hell is full of mustaches.)
There are some complicating factors here that, at this point in the story, I should explain. No no, maybe not exactly explain, but at least mention in a vague and purely hypothetical way:
Let's just imagine that a friend of mine had recently been hauled into the Student Conduct Office to answer for a previous unfortunate encounter with The U-Billy P.D., involving a choice exchange of words which (though the ensuing police report made for a delightful reading experience that actually caused the attorney in the Student Legal Services office to involuntarily laugh out loud upon review) didn't sit well with the U-Billy administration.
(Dash-cam footage prior to arrest, as seen at disciplinary hearing.)
What can I say? Sharp Susies who are sufficiently well-versed in their goddamn constitutional rights and supporting American case law are no darlings of beginner cops who are not. And, unsurprisingly, insufficiently-obsequious Susies who don't handle being badgered via a badge with as much grace and self-restraint as they, in hindsight, maybe hypothetically could have shown* are required, once released from the hoosegow, to answer to a Student Conduct board in the form of a hearing. And thus, this hypothetical Susie I know may or may not have been unceremoniously placed on disciplinary probation by U-Billy, pursuant to the board's decision on said hearing, which may or may not affect the remaining story. Hypothetically.
*(like say, just for example, the most poised course of action for a small-wristed, pissed-off Susie might not be to twice hypothetically slip out of bunglingly-applied handcuffs.)
So anyway, immediately, upon this detention, I pictured myself getting not-at-all-hypothetically zip-tied by a bike-cop in front of Billy Blades and internally fucking died. There was only one alternative: kindness. All that kindness I'd been musing about sending forth toward the more attractive parts of my universe mere seconds earlier had to now be grudgingly redirected toward Billy Bike-Cop, lest he look
The thing is, I am capable of being pretty charming, given the right set of motivating circumstances. So I stopped, took a deep breath, and turned to face the pimply music pursuing me.
(Oh, haha! The "miss" confused me, since I usually get "ma'am-ed" these days!)
He was perhaps 20. He was panting slightly from the exertion of a half-block's acceleration. His white Humpty-Dumpty bike helmet, emblazoned with an authoritative "POLICE" decal, was comically too large and sat askew. And it was clear, within the first 5 seconds of our interactions, that I (or maybe his job in general) scared the shit out of him.
This would not do: authority figures do not like to feel uncomfortable. People with a little authority turn into terrible humans when they're uncomfortable! I needed lil' Billy Bike-Cop to feel unthreatened and respected and - dare I say it - loved.
He stammered through a couple lines about the state law concerning bicycles and stop signs while I smiled and maintained eye contact like an upstanding citizen. He tried stumblingly to return the dialogue to the official topic of traffic rules and cycling safety while I apologized and swallowed my lack of actual fucks-to-give and asked about his day and nodded and laughed on cue. He started to loosen up. When I leaned in and tilted my head to subconsciously mirror his posture and complimented his friendly professionalism and bowed slightly to make him seem dominant and otherwise pulled out every salesperson's ruse I ever had up my former-U.S.-Army-Recruiter's sleeve, he finally broke and smiled back. This was the moment I knew it was in the bag: Billy Bike-Cop shot a quick "yeah, bicycle contact terminated" response to the inquiring fuzz squawking out of his shoulder-radio, then mentioned that he was willing to "go against policy" just this once and forgo a ticket. I beamed as hard as I could with a straight face.
And then, still straddling his bike, Billy Bike-Cop awkwardly hopped toward me, handed me a slip of paper containing what I took to be a warning, winked, and rode off, looking over his shoulder at me as he carefully braked to a dead halt at the deserted intersection between him and his uniformed brethren. I fled the scene.
Once I was home I unfolded the warning and found it empty, save - scrawled on the "Officer information" line - Billy Bike-Cop's first name, a non-local cell number, and a smiley-face.
(Mmmyesyes, well played, young Billymmm, but I wasn't born yesterday. Or even yesterdecade.)
I believe this juncture is where Billy Bike-Cop's story will, in accordance with all applicable rules of the road, be required to come to a complete stop.
