“What did you pick up there?”

I was walking my dog, as I am prone to do.  Often very late – sometimes at 1 or 2 am.  Today it was at 11pm.

I passed a parked police car on a quiet residential street.  He had his engine running and headlights on, and appeared to be busy.  I waved as I passed, but I didn’t really pay much attention.

A half block later I saw a Marlboro cigarette pack laying in the road.  I picked it up and put it in my pocket.  I often pick up trash on my walks and dispose of it when I get home.

But suddenly the police officer pulls next to me and asks what I put in my pocket.

“A cigarette pack”, I answer.

“What is in it?”, he asks.

“It is just trash. I was picking up trash, I respond.

“Can I see it?”, asks he.

Now here I could have been smarter, or more capitulating, I suppose.  But I am neither.

“I don’t know – why do you want to see it?”, I ask.

“I could get a warrant”, he says.

“For what?”, I ask.

“It looked suspicious”, says he.

“Picking up trash looks suspicious?”, I ask.

“Cigarette packs are often used to transfer illegal substances”, he says.

“And they are often thrown out of car windows into streets”, I reply.

“Can’t you just let me see it?”, he inquires.

“You can follow me home, and watch me throw it in my trash can – then you are free to do what you want”, I say.

“I can’t look in your trash without your permission either”, he states.

“You have my permission to look at my trash, just tonight, ok?” I state/ask.

“Why are you being stubborn?”, asks him.

“Why are you abusing my rights?”, ask I.

“Look, don’t be stupid – this could be easy – if you have nothing to hide, why aren’t you cooperating?, he questions.

“Cooperating?  I am walking my dog, and picking up random trash.  Why aren’t you being as productive as I am?”, I argue. (I admit, this might not be a good move on my part.  But anyone that reads my blog over time realizes that I have had an odd set of experiences with members of law enforcement – to include them running over my mailbox.  It is not that I do not respect them – I just do not fear them).

And then I notice this is not even a cop from my town!  This is a cop from an adjacent city that has absolutely ZERO business asking me ANY questions here.  I pull out my cell and start dialing.

“What are doing?”, he asks.

“Calling MY cops”, I answer.

“Fuck-head”, he says as he races off – looking for easier prey, I think.

My youngest brother just recently became a Police Officer.  I hope he is a better one than the one I met tonight.  I figure he has to be.  And since I know him, I know he will be.