You know what they say about assuming, officer.

The sound of tires rolling across the street sounded like waves rolling on and off the beach. Lost in thoughts of another place and time, I turned the corner of 11th and Garnett, heading south. My 1990 Toyota Camry softly vibrating as I accelerated.  I squinted my eyes at the seemingly blinding bright street lights and yawned; it couldn't have been much later than midnight, but constantly running from place to place can wear a guy out. I hadn't even had time to take my car into a mechanic to have the tail lights looked at, which still hadn't been replaced since the last time I had an encounter with the police, which involved a very awkward confrontation with the sheriff and a pocket knife.



It was around the same time that thought was running through my head that I noticed a vehicle had recently pulled up behind me and was tailing me. Personal space has been a big pet-peeve of mine since before I can remember, and having someone drive that close to me made me feel very uncomfortable. My first instinct was to speed up. My second instinct was "I bet it's a cop, and he's trying to make me uncomfortable by tailing me, forcing me to speed up so he can give me a speeding ticket. That cheeky monkey." Sadly, the latter was the correct one. Fortunately, I didn't give in to my compulsions and I refrained from speeding. Regardless, those famous flashing red, white, and blue lights came on and I pulled over into a neighborhood.

I prayed it wasn't about my tail lights. After living in constant fear of driving at night, I took action into my own hands. I didn't have the funds necessary to have them fixed properly, so instead I did what any duct-tape loving Boy Scout would do: I duct-taped two flashlights to the inside of my lights and turned them on manually when I was driving at night. They weren't particularly bright, but they had worked consistently at not getting pulled over for about four months. Conversely, I was aware that their battery's were slowly but surely dying, and they were particularly faint.

"Licence and registration."
I squinted. A combination of the bright lights in my rear-view and his flashlight in my eyes made it difficult to look anywhere without being blinded. "Is there a problem officer?"
"Have you been drinking tonight?"
Dumbfounded by the abruptness of his inquiry, I managed to fumble out a response. "Uh, not tonight."
"Are you sure about that? I can smell it on you."
"It must be you then, officer." That was the thought in the back of my mind. I'm beyond grateful I managed to not say that, though. "I'm pretty positive," I said with a nod.
"If you just admit it now, you'll be in less trouble."
This didn't make much sense to me, seeing as how I'd still be drinking underage whilst driving. I was more concerned with his persistence, though. I wasn't in the mood to get arrested for no good reason; if I'm going to get arrested, it's going to be for something awesome, not because some cop felt like he had nothing better to do with him time. "Sorry officer, I'm still not drunk."
"Would you please step out of the vehicle?"
"Did I commit a crime?" I was afraid this would end up like a scene from a movie, where they make you try to walk in a straight line or say the alphabet backwards, both of which I can't do sober anyways.
"Follow the pen with your eyes. Don't move your head." He said in a demanding tone. I nodded my head in affirmation. "Don't do that. I said don't do that."
He began moving the pen side to side and up and down, and I followed with my eyes. Apparently, though, by this point in time, he felt like a chubby kid in a 1990 Toyota Camry was such a threat that he needed to call for back up. Two other officers of "the law" joined him in his pursuit of making a kid so scared of the consequences that he admits to drunk driving, which he was doing a bad job of, because I wasn't really in the least bit scared.
"Do the test again. I think I saw his head move." Interjected one of the newly arrived officers. "Here, let me do it." He pulled out a black ink Bic Atlantis.
"Dude, that's a nice pen. That's my favorite type of pen." I said in the back of my head. He began to do the eye test. He started off going up and down, except when he went up, he went so far past my field of vision that I could no longer see his hand at all. "How do they expect me to not move my head if I'm supposed to follow the pen?" I asked myself. Then I realized that they didn't want me to follow the pen with my eyes. They were trying to make me move my head so they could find a way to give me a ticket for drunk driving, or even arrest me. Eventually, after I finished their "test," they instructed me to sit in my car and wait until they decided if I was drunk or not. Yes, until they decided, as if it wasn't even up to me in the first place. After nearly 15 minutes, one of them came up to my window and handed me a ticket for not having any tail lights. I signed it, and he told me to drive carefully. I started up my car and drove off, significantly less enamored with Tulsa's boys in blue for trying to make me confess to drunk driving.

The joke's on them though, because when he gave me the ticket to sign, I kept his Bic Atlantis. Maybe they'll think twice before they mess with me next time.