Be a dick day in Denver
Yesterday, I traveled to Denver, was up for 21.5 hours and saw a lot of stuff. It was a tiring day, but no one told us that it was “let a badge and a little power go to your head” and “be a dick with a badge” day in Denver.
Our first asshat was a guard in the Body Worlds exhibit. Paul didn’t have the case to his camera with him in the museum so he had to carry the camera in his hand. You weren’t allowed to take photos in the exhibit, which is fine, but this idiot kept harassing Paul.
He asked several times why Paul had a camera with him and if he was planning on taking pictures. Then he made sure to tell Paul three times in less than a minute that Paul couldn’t take photos. Yeah, we know, thanks. We’re not taking any. The guy kept following Paul around throughout the exhibit and kept mentioning that Paul shouldn’t be carrying his camera. Yeah, we got it. No pictures. We’re not 2. We understand the rules.
The second ass clown was a cop after the Rockies game. Now, I’m not totally familiar with downtown Denver. I’m also the only car in a five block radius after the game with Nebraska plates. Everyone else has Colorado plates. We know we need to get to Park Avenue West, which we finally see after we clear some trees. The light is red, so I put on my blinker and wait to move into the left lane so I can turn and we can get out of town.
A gentleman stops his car and motions for me to move into the lane in front of him. I wave a thank you to him and move into the lane. We turn the corner and a cop turns his lights and sirens on, forces me into a driveway and blocks me so I cannot continue driving. I’m thinking, “What the fuck?” Paul rolls down the passenger side window and I’m greeted with the biggest dick I’ve seen in a long time.
His head is bald. His face is red with anger and a vein is popping out of the right side of his mouth. He has a toothpick hanging out of the left side of his mouth. It bounces up and down as he spews forth his rage.
He screams at me, “Don’t you ever do that again.”
Puzzled, I look at him and say, “What?”
“You know what you did.” Apparently, I am angering him more by not knowing what I did. “If you ever cut off a car like that again, I’ll write you a ticket.”
“Okay,” I say, quite puzzled as I had not cut anyone off.
“I’m serious. You don’t drive like that. I swear to god I’ll write you a ticket if you ever cut anyone off like that again.”
“Okay,” I say, more emphatically. What I’m thinking is, “If you’re not going to write me a ticket then let me go,” but I refrain as this guy seems like he’s just waiting for a reason to jump out of his car and beat the shit out of me.
“I will write you a ticket next time. You wait in line like everyone else.” Whoah dude, I’m not in kindergarten. I didn’t break any laws and I’ve done this same maneuver a hundred times in five different countries. I want to offer him a Valium, but refrain from doing so as I don’t want him to kill me.
“Yeah, thank you, okay,” I say. I just want to go. Seriously, I didn’t cut anyone off. I didn’t break any laws, but officer red veiny face wants to beat a dead horse some more. “It’s just, I’m from out of town and I don’t quite understand how your roads work and this was one road we knew we needed to be on.”
“I don’t care where you’re from. We don’t drive like that here.” I would say that he said that with a sneer, but his eyes were bulging from his face and his nostrils were flaring in and out. I couldn’t make out a clear sneer from all the rage. If he didn’t kill me, his blood pressure was going to kill him.
I thought to myself, “Uh, okay dude. This isn’t the Old West. You’re not my mother. Have some compassion for people who are lost. You don’t have to be an ass about your explanation.”
“If I ever catch you driving like that again, I will right you a ticket.” By this point, I’m thinking, yeah, you know you have no authority to write me a ticket, you’re just a bitter, middle-aged man who has let a little power go to your head. If you really thought I broke the law, you’d have written me a ticket by now and been nice and not acted like a 5-year old that’s been told he can’t have candy for dinner.
“Thanks,” was all I said. What else could I say? His face was getting redder. He pointed at me more vehemently each time he spoke. His toothpick was bobbing up and down so fast I thought it might fly out of his mouth and poke Paul’s eye out.
“I mean it. Don’t do it again.” He rolled up his automatic window. His face still crimson with rage. I had hoped he would stay leaning out the window so his face would get caught in it, but to no avail. He sped off.
I said to Paul, “What a fucking dickhead.” Paul agreed, noting that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I took solace in that as Paul is the one who yells at me for doing 71 in a 65 and is usually quick to point out that he would never drive the way I do.
I was pissed. Paul was annoyed. We both expressed what we’d have like to have said and done, but the fact is, cops always go overboard. They let the little power they have go to their heads. They rarely act within the law anymore and are only interested in their power trips and hurting people to make themselves feel better. They are the same from Denver to New York City to London to Dublin to Rome to Paris. If you ever want to ask me why I hate cops, this is one of many examples I can give you.

