Southside Stories: Moments with Davis P.D.

I took two extra trips to Woodland last year, each requiring a half day off from work, because my A-student son twice encountered a bike cop with the Davis Police Department.

Earlier that summer I was proud of his dedication as he pedaled all the way to the High School from the extreme south of Davis.  He did that every day that hot August, hoping to secure a spot on the Freshman football team.

Proud.  Until he told me he got a ticket.

The first violation occurred because his helmet strap broke halfway to practice and he chose to proceed without one.  He always wears a helmet.  The other when a group of pedestrians coming out of one of our fine Davis restaurants walked right into the bike lane causing him to think quickly and swerve up onto the sidewalk.

Both times, at the moment of his transgression — Surprise!!   Bike cop.

A month later a letter arrives and tells you that you must accompany your juvenile delinquent to the Woodland County Courthouse.  When you get there on the day they designate for the bike tickets and minor traffic violations, you glumly sit with other parents and discuss how your kid did something stupid but you can’t believe the Police Department isn’t busy enough catching real crooks.

When you get into the courtroom, the judge gives the defendant no option to explain – you may only plead guilty.  Unless you want the privilege of taking another half day off of work to come back in another couple of months for a hearing where you may explain that your strap broke or ask whether you should have mowed down said pedestrians.

Frustrated, I blamed it on a lack of compassion or understanding by the police officer.  I guess the Davis Police Department has nothing better to do than to catch kids riding their bikes through town.

“P.D.”, my godson, a County Sheriff in the Central Valley calls city police, implying something useless.  “P.D.” I thought, feeling the same kind of condescension.

I kept that little attitude going every time I saw one, especially those waiting to catch the poor parents dropping their kids off at Harper Junior High School – sitting there at the entrance to the parking lot in hawk-like position staring at all of us as we drive by with our precious cargo: those Mini-Me’s making us crazy with their hormones and incomplete frontal lobes.

So this morning seemed pretty routine as we jumped in the car with bags, phones and homework projects – until we were almost to sanctuary.

As I am moving into the turn lane in front of the school the light turns red and the girl-teen proceeds to inform me that she has dropped the lid to the tube of face makeup she borrowed because she found an imperfection (!) on her peachy face.

“WHAT??”  I know that oily mess will be all over my back seat in minutes.

So in a split second I decide to do something stupid.  The turn-signal light had just turned to red.  I know I have about a minute to jump out and open the back door to search myself, thus avoiding permanent damage to my upholstery.  Hurry Hurry!!

I throw the car in “park” and jump out of my driver’s side seat and open the back passenger door.

Meanwhile the boy-teen – apparently the only rational person in the car – is calmly saying, “Are you kidding me, Mom?  Are you really getting out of the car at the signal?”

“I know I have time – the light just turned red…where is it??  Get up!! It’s probably underneath you!”

Just then, who happens to pull up on the opposite side? P.D.

“Is everything ok?”

As I am pulling myself back out to say yes and become appropriately horrified, I see for a split second the helmet and aviator glasses – Ugh!

And in a moment of pure comedic timing, a car pulls up behind the concerned police officer and lays on his horn so loud we both jump.  The driver is cursing and gesturing because I assume he doesn’t realize he is honking at a public servant (not to mention one who may give him a big fat ticket and cause him to lose important time at work or a whole lot of money, or both).

When the horn sounds the policeman jumps like a rabbit – and I get a glimpse of someone who is suddenly really human.  Of course he then composes himself quickly and turns on his flashing lights.  The man in the car behind him turns white as a sheet.

I quickly say “YES everything is fine, thanks so much for checking!” and jump back in my car, and the police officer continues on.  When the light turns green, I slink into the Harper parking lot, checking my rearview mirror, and appreciating the silence of two kids who just can’t believe what just happened.

Funny how a new experience can change your whole attitude.

I quickly tell the kids how stupid I was, put the makeup tube in the cup holder and let the kids climb out without looking back.  I WILL talk to them later about never ever doing that…but somehow I think now they know in a way that will never leave them.

I feel terrible about this officer who asked me how I was doing, and then probably lost another day off his life with that horn blaring behind him.

And I wonder how many people treat him smugly or look at him with contempt every day – because they know he just lives for catching innocent people who are simply in a hurry, broke a strap or have a perfectly good reason for not following the law for a second.

More than that, I have to think that he must make stops like that countless times a week, just to ask how a person in distress is doing – even if they aren’t really in distress and in fact doing something really stupid.

It doesn’t matter, my child could have been choking in the back seat and he stopped to ask.

Thanks Davis Police Department.

I am still waiting to see when I am going to think this is funny instead of being completely mortified.