A Costly Finger

Normally, giving a fellow motorist the finger won't land your ass in jail. If it did, I would be doing life on the installment plan. No joke. I give someone the finger at least once a week. Sometimes just because I haven't done it all week. The look on those people's face is priceless--better than television. But nevermind that.

"Yo, Simon, are you busy," Kevin asked.

Eyeing my criminal law notes, "Not particularly. Why?"

"Well, I know you're studying," he said. I wondered why he didn't consider that being busy. "But if you could help me unload some stuff out of my car at my job, I'd appreciate it enough to buy you a couple of beers." I glanced at the clock--2pm. Why not? I have been at this since 8 this morning, and my mind was growing increasingly resistant. A break might do me some good.

"Sounds good. Meet me at the spot, and we'll take your car over."

"Cool."

A couple hours later. Kevin and I finished unloading his car, and, while sitting there having a few beers, Kevin decides he needs to go to Kabredlo's for some cigarettes.

"Wanna ride," he asks.

"Why not?" We motion to the bartender and tell him we'll be right back.

We pull out of the parking lot onto a major street. Kevin signals he's turning left. I notice a lady in the turning lane in a white Jeep Cherokee. She's fussing with her blonde,graying hair, talking on the phone and looking frantically around for something. Rudimentary multi-tasking. The light turns green and Kevin accelerates, and decides he needs to be in the far lane. So he signals and starts to switch lanes. Surprisingly, the Jeep Cherokee accelerates abruptly and pulls up next to Kevin forcing him to swerve hard to the left to avoid an accident.

The lady pulls up next to us, rolls down her window, opened her mouth and vomited an extraordinary river of obscenities. Some I've never heard before. Casually, and rightfully, Kevin flipped her off with a "Fuck you, bitch."

She signals for him to pull over. Despite being a little bewildered as to why Kevin is pulling over, I'm laughing hard enough that pissing my pants is a growing concern. I look out the back window. The woman is approaching. Kenny says, "What the fuck is her problem?" She reaches inside her blazer pocket. "Prescription run out, I guess," I laugh. Suddenly all of the humor drained out of the moment. She's leaning in the driver window brandishing a badge and saying, "Do you always spin your tires and nearly cause accidents." Clearly lying. Kevin drives a 1992 Ford Taurus with an automatic transmission.

"You're lying, "Kevin says, "There is no way the tires would spin on this car." I'm growing a bit nervous for Kevin. See, Kevin has two DUI's and, currently, he's on probation for his second one. In fact, he shouldn't be driving anywhere except to work and home. But, that's not the problem, really. The problem is that we have about three beers a piece in us. If given a sobriety test, he's gonna lose.

She reaches in her front jean pocket, fishes out her cell phone and calls for another police officer. Apparently, she's off duty and late for something. She asks Kevin to step out of the car. She asks,"Have you been drinking?" Kevin says, "What the hell is all this?" She pats him down, which is odd. Finds a cell phone and a wallet.

The other police officer arrives. The off-duty officer says, "I think he needs a sobriety test." I'm rifling through my brain. I don't think any of this is legal. I step out of the car.

"Why did you stop us in the first place," I ask. "If anyone did anything wrong, it's this well past her prime Barbie, and she should be the one getting felt up."

"You get back in the car," the woman says.

"Not likely," I said.

"If you don't get back in the car, you're going be arrested for interfering with police work," says the on-duty.

"Oh, is that what you call this? Police work? Because it looks suspiciously like a pre-textual stop with a little racial profiling thrown in for that special touch." I said. I held my ground, but didn't approach. This seemed to satisfy both officers.

The aging Barbie muttered something to the on-duty officer and then left. The on-duty administered a breathalyzer. Kevin is drunk. Off to the pokey, for the second time in less than a year. And I'm standing there on the side of the road, in 90 degree heat, resigning myself to the walk that lies ahead; back to my car, and our bar tab.