How not to deal with police officers
By Jon HochschartnerIt took me a long time to admit to myself that I was depressed. Anticipating the leap to college, sometime during my senior year of high school I started on an anorexic-type search for moral perfection that starved the real me into, whatever. It was like my armor. I worked on the college ambulance squad, wrote hard-core libertarian-socialist columns for the school paper, worked a dead-end job only to give nearly my entire paycheck to UNICEF, and ate nothing but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches three meals a day (only a slight exaggeration) because I was trying my best to be a vegan. White guilt to the max. I was involved in everything political. When I had free time, the most relaxation I allowed myself was to sit down with a 1,000-page tome on CIA intervention in Latin America, diligently taking notes. I was like that guy in "The Da Vinci Code" with the spiked leg bracelet. Because it wasn't really about doing good so much as forming this lonely ideological club of one.
After about two years of this, I burned out. I quit college to come home to live with my parents in Lake Placid. To watch TV for hours on end and work at Price Chopper. I was clinically depressed and, after a brief bout of macho resistance, would eventually start to get the help I needed. Medication, shrink, the works.
Long story short, I was not in a great emotional place the winter before last. Driving home one night, I was feeling particularly unhappy as I passed a state trooper who sat by the ski jumps all day. Like a speed trap. Where was my NWA CD when I needed it?
Now before I say this, let me say I knew it was stupid, immature, whatever. But I didn't think it was really a big deal. I rolled down my window and flipped the trooper off on impulse as I went by. He immediately pulled out and started following me. I dropped down to 45 miles an hour so he didn't have an excuse to pull me over.
I was about halfway home when I flipped him off again. For a fleeting second I thought about just going. Have a little police-chase-meets-cry-for-help. I mean, if I couldn't be Clark Kent gone revolutionary ... if I was a screw-up, part of me wanted to be a big screw-up. A James Dean-level, death-in-a-ball-of-flames screw-up. But I didn't, and together, the state trooper and I drove all the way home. I flipped him off one last time through my car's sun roof as I pulled into my home. The statie slowed outside my driveway before moving on.
End of story, right? Fortunately for retrospect comedy's sake, no. Two or so hours later, the secretary of the school that I live at called my Mom and told me there was a police officer on campus to see me. He was quickly at my house, in the door, taking off his hat.
"Do you know why I'm here?" he asked me.
"No," I said, but then reconsidered, "Well actually, I think I do."
"Why's that?"
"Because I flipped you off." I said, trying my best to sound defiant.
"That's right."
"But that's B.S. It's freedom of speech." I knew it was true, too; I'd taken Con Law in high school.
"I pulled you over for improper use of a hand signal. You indicated you were making a left-hand turn, and failed to make one."
I proceeded to lay a shower of curses on him that cannot be printed here. I suggested he attempt something anatomically impossible with himself. Here was a bit of faceless authority that I could vent my emotion on. My mother, who initially had tried to get me to act rationally, just shook her head on the kitchen stool in disappointment and disgust.
The trooper went on, "Now, I can either write you a ticket, or -"
"Or what? You're throwing the book at me; it's B.S."
"- Or you can tell me what's going on. Why are you doing this? What's the matter?"
My anger melted. He sounded concerned.
I wanted to tell him - or anyone, for that matter - that I felt sad all the time for no reason. That it was like watching a surreal movie of myself. That I'd somehow lost the real me and I was afraid I'd never get it back. That I never wanted to grow up. That I hated myself because my depression was so spoiled coming from a middle-class, white American heterosexual male, it was absurd. And on and on. But I couldn't say it. So I didn't.
Eventually, I realized the statie was not going to leave until I "yes, bossed" him. So I sucked up my pride and did it. And he drove off.
That's my story. If you're out there, Mr. Police Man ... sorry.
Jon Hochscharter lives in Lake Placid, is a student at Plattsburgh State University and is an intern this summer at the Lake Placid News. Look for his column, "Younger than Bob" on Saturdays in the Enterprise.
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hochschartnerjon
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07-11-08 10:22 AM
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If you find what I write to be problematic for you personally, I suggest you write a letter to the editor with your name on it.
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NativeTransplant
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07-09-08 10:57 AM
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I'm not sure the character in this short story (who happens to be a real person) underwent any growth or came out any "stronger" than before, as Jack suggests. I think this Jon person is only stronger after having written a revealing column that is being read and judged by thousands of people. But that's no way to grow, or tell a story. Characters in stories have to undergo change to be interesting. Maybe in next week's column...
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michael1
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07-07-08 3:32 PM
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A one-word "Sorry" doesn't cut it, Bozo. I understand that you might have been in a dark place at that time. I assume you have since pulled it together. You should have ended your entertaining freshman writing assignment with a more sincere apology. You're lucky you didn't get your depressed butt kicked...
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Braim04
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07-07-08 1:34 PM
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From the heading - "How not to deal with Police Officers" one would think that you learned a valuable lesson but it appears not to be so. It is great that you have the time to let the community see your lack of maturity - and lack of RESPECT for the local law enforcement folks. From your sophomoric tale it appears that you are advocating this type of behavior as a "right" ( freedom of speech? no,possibly freedom of expression) when in actuality rude behavior like this should not be confused as a right but purely as immature behavior!! One would suspect that if you ever do truly NEED the assistance of the "COPS" that you might see them a little differently - as the public servants they are - and not as some enemy!! There is no excuse fro rude behavior - especially if one tries to explain it away as immaturity!!
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jackcrowley
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07-05-08 3:18 PM
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Hey, Jon- good on you! Takes guts to tell this story- and looks like both you and the cop came out stronger from this discussion!!! all best, Jack Crowley Seattle via Rainbow Lake
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