I'm on a traffic stop with a guy who's clearly drunk, has a suspended driver's license, and has no insurance. I can't even remember how many times I've dealt with this idiot before. I tell him to sit in his car and stay put until I come back and talk to him some more.
I'm sitting in my squad, writing citations and trying to decide how much to pile on. I'm dreading the thought of doing any sobriety tests on him because he's always such a whiny, uncooperative douchebag. I happen to glance up just in time to see his automatic radio antenna going up as he starts the engine and high-tails it out of there.
I know where he's going: his apartment, which is about 4 blocks away. I cruise over there, and sure enough there he is getting out of his car. I grab him and now he actually wants to fight me. This is like being attacked by an extremely intoxicated version of the scarecrow from Wizard of Oz. I'm more worried about accidentally breaking one of his bones than anything else.
I finally get him cuffed up and he starts telling me he did NOT flee from the traffic stop. He says he had informed me that he would meet me at his apartment where we could finish up our business, and I said that was OK, and so he just drove home.
Oddly, I don't recall any such conversation. And besides, it just don't work like that. Last I heard, he was doing 18 months at the state pen. But he'll be back. He'll be back.
1 comment:
That's hilarious. Amazing how drunks always justify themselves somehow.
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