After our marching band's performance at a football game was cancelled because of lightning, about six or seven of the band members (including a few student leaders) sat around shooting the breeze, not fighting, not smoking, not drinking, not being loud. An unmarked police car rolled up and our conversation stopped as we turned our attention to him.
In an acrid and condescending tone, the policeman pointed a finger to the exit of the parking lot and said, "Out."
"Okay, just give us a moment to figure out what we can do," we replied. We wondered if Friendly's was still open, and asked the officer, who gave us a cold look.
"You can get out now, or in 20 minutes I can start writing tickets for curfew, because I know you have junior licenses," he said (there was actually only one driver in the group who did). To appease this obviously tired and overworked civil servant, we decided to adjourn to a friend's house. We were singing as we got into our cars, and we pulled around past the cruiser. I waved good-bye and we were off.
We came to a complete stop at the stop sign and were rammed by the officer's car. I don't know how fast he was going, but it was no tap. My friend and I, both student leaders, got out of the car to address the situation.
The officer, frantic and quite enraged at his own idiocy, pointed a menacing finger at me, "Let me see your ID."
"Why do want to see my ID?" I asked, because I was the passenger.
"Let me see your ID!" he demanded. I asked why again, reminding him that it was a legitimate question. Getting the same non-answer, I started to hand him my license. He all but ripped it from my hand.
"And may I have your name?" I asked. He is Detective X.
"A fine representation of the Marching Knights you are!" he yelled. I must have missed the meeting that decided nothing cordial will be said by, and no questions will be asked of, an officer of the law. Even though my parents pay him his...