Fuzz Buzz

Run-ins with unexpected or, better yet, unnoticed authority tickle me pink.

My favorite part of The King’s Speech is when Lionel’s wife comes home early from her bridge party and is completely surprised to find the king and queen there with her husband; Michelle Obama’s recent undercover shopping trip to Target gave me a feeling of residual specialness when M bought me a sleek jacket there the other day; a recurring fantasy of mine is that I am suddenly revealed to the people around me (especially those who find me dull) as an undercover officer of the law when I execute a high profile arrest right in front of them.

I’ve had a close encounter with the latter sort of power trip. For a criminal justice college course I had to go on a police ride along for six or eight hours one Friday night. We made one traffic stop (the driver turned out to be undocumented, unlicensed and unable to speak English and, it turned out, under 18, which meant that the handcuffing he was subjected to when he was taken to the jail was illegal, which worried the officer quite a bit), responded to a number of noise violation calls (the parties had always dissipated before our arrival), checked on Lowe’s (their alarm had gone off), and cruised through my little religious university at about two o’clock in the morning.

On top of the campus hill, the officer pointed to all the cars parked around the chapel. “What’s this about?” she demanded.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know of anything taking place.”

“Let’s check it out.” She parked the car and, crouched over, ran to the building and peered in the windows. Of course I followed–and then remembered that it the event was an “all-night party for God.”

Back in the cruiser we drove through the nearby quiet neighborhood of fine homes, one of which, the officer noticed, had lights still on.

“Maybe something’s wrong,” she said, pulling over to the curb. “Why don’t you go check it out?”

I reached for the car door handle. “Wha–Are you serious?”

She laughed at me and we drove on.

We stopped at a convenience store. “Law enforcement gets free drinks,” she said; maybe her raised eyebrows when I stepped up to pay for mine meant that I didn’t have to, either, but I figured I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Back to Lowe’s we went for another false alarm; in the parking lot we met up with another cruiser.

“Doughnuts?” the officer driving the other car asked. “7-11 was throwing them out.” He handed across a bag full. I could hardly keep from laughing out loud: I was eating doughnuts with the police.

And then we got a call to file a report at the hospital. At a stoplight someone had come up to a car of young men and smashed a bottle over one of their heads. The officer interviewed them and filled out her paperwork while I looked on. As we left, the men thanked the officer, and then turned and thanked me, too.

As far as they were concerned, I realized, I was a plainclothesman. I nodded and grimaced a sober, undisclosing smile.

So I’m not above getting a thrill out of imagining myself as un-noticeably important (even though my daydreams almost always involve my authority’s being noticed).

Take yesterday, for example.

Last week the convenience store across the street announced to teachers that on school days we get free coffee if we bring our school ID and own coffee cup. Yesterday I stopped for some decaf with French vanilla creamer–and a bit of hazelnut regular, too, to give me a little boost.

I filled my cup, screwed on the lid, and as I walked past the checkout line where people were waiting their turns to pay, I reached into my new black jacket and flashed my badge at the cashier. She gave a little wave, and off I went.

It could’ve been merely water in my mug, after that; I didn’t need the caffeine.