Life Is One Big Awkward Sandwhich

You know, things can just be down right awkward sometimes can’t they?? We've all had those moments. Moments where we've seen people trip and fall...and you don't know whether to laugh or help. Or if you've ever been in a gym and seen a person get absolutely crushed by the bench press bar and can’t get it off their chest. Or maybe it’s been a date that within the first 10 seconds you can tell is going to be an absolute fail, the times when you've ran into an in-law or ex- flame and you’re forced to make awkward conversation, or where you get caught red-handed doing something you know you shouldn't have been doing.

What I’m trying to get at is we ALL have had awkward moments. You’re probably thinking of one of them right now as you read this like “Yep, I remember that!” Heck, I might have had one with you!  For me personally, I've always had an admiration for people that have the absolute skill and grace of playing off an awkward moment. You, know the smooth talker. The one who could convince a person that water is imported from Mars, or that a giraffe is actually called a raccoon in the English language.  

It’s like the skill is uncanny, an unlearn able sixth instinct. Maybe it’s a practiced skill acquired over time, like a surgeon delicately threading a needle or attaching something back into place on the operating table. Whatever it is, I’m finding out that I DO NOT HAVE THAT PRACTICED OR AQUIRED SKILL. I mean ZERO.

I’m finding instead that I have a gift for the opposite. I find myself in awkward moments, and then somehow, add to that awkward moment. So much that within the last few months, I have added a new life motto to my bag of life quotes. “Life is one big awkward sandwich, and everyone’s gotta take their bite out of it.”  I’m quickly finding out that I might as well make mine an extra large with a side order of “things just got weird.” Yep. That’s me.So you’re probably wondering why this is such a long intro. DANIEL JUST TELL THE STORY. Well, the story has to be set up first. For those of you who do not know me well, let’s just say my family is still trying to figure out what planet I came from. Things are usually A) FUN or B) AWKWARD with me. There is no C option. So with that being said, the story and ground work has been laid to how awkward things can be.

A wise man once told me that if I were to ever move into a new city the first thing you do is get a good mechanic to fix your car, a good pastor to preach the word, a good landlord to protect your valuables, and a good barber. So I’m happy to say I have checked those off the box one by one.  What the wise man did not give me any advice on, is what to do when one of the above breaks the law…

It was a typical Friday night. I love working the weekends equally as much as I am disappointed to not being able to enjoy them. You see, the weekends are usually the best time to work as a law enforcement officer, especially when working 3^rd shift. It’s like being a kid in a candy store with so many options to choose from. The candy being cars and complaints. The candy store being whatever city or township I decide to meander into or get dispatched to. Oh, the joy of working for the State Police, where jurisdiction lines are met with the logo on the side of the car that says “State Police.” That’s why some people love us. That’s why some people hate us. You can go anywhere. Cue story.

Around four AM on this particular night, I happened to be in the very lovely county of Kalamazoo on patrol. I had already stirred up the hornet’s nest with a couple of solid arrests, and I wanted to get back in an hour and a half to do some paper work before my shift ended. One thing I’ve learned out quickly is the second you think about paperwork, something always happens. In this event as I was driving down a semi-popular road, when I observed a red sedan come blazing out of a private driveway. “Hmm, no turn signal, no stop, and he crossed left of center?” This was worth a talking too. I sped up to the vehicle. While speeding up to the vehicle, I noticed in my rear view mirror that a blue car had also come out of that exact same driveway, and was speeding up to catch me. I wondered if he thought I was the car he was supposed to follow? Again.  No turn signal, no stop, and drove left of center. What this driver of the blue car also failed to realize was the word “State Police” on my bumper. So as I sped up to catch the red car, the blue car followed hot behind me, inches of my bumper. I looked at my speedometer. 70 mph in a 45 mph zone. The dilemma hit me. Do I pull over the red car in front of me or the blue car behind me?

I pulled over and let the blue car speed on by me, dumbfounded that he didn't even slow his speed down once he passed me. I can’t make this up. You would think that someone would be smart enough to not tailgate a State Trooper, and then when the Trooper pulls in behind them to slow it down. NOPE.  He continued on, and then swerved into oncoming traffic and narrowly missed a head on collision with another vehicle.  I decided I was going to have a serious chit-chat with this goofball. I flipped my lights on to pull over the vehicle.

 I've learned quickly to never expect the usual when pulling a car over. Some people pull over with grace and gentleness of an old pro. Some slam their brakes on like they've just had a seizure, some will do anything to pull over including running stop signs, and there are the select awesome few that will actually stop dead in the middle of the road. That’s always fun. As I walked up to the car, I could hear loud, muffled music coming from the passenger compartment. As I made my “approach” I observed a single male sitting in the driver’s seat looking out the other side of the window at my partners approaching flashlight. He didn't even see me. I tapped on the window. The second the window rolled down, I could smell the overwhelming odor of “intoxicant’s” coming from inside the passenger compartment of the vehicle. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out two and two. It was as if someone had opened a liquor cabinet inside of the car, drank the whole thing, and then dumped the rest of it inside the car, and then proceeded on their merry way. What came next was awkward.

It becomes awkward the moment you pull someone over that you know.   Well for me at least. Especially at 4 am in the morning. And me being awkward by nature, it pretty much just turns into a bull in a china shop type effect. The harder I try to NOT make it awkward, it becomes more awkward. I’ve learned to accept it now. Hey, life is an awkward sandwich and everyone has to take a bite out of it right? I was ready to take a LARGE sized bite, and graduate to a whole another level of “It just got weird.”

 Now you usually have two options in an awkward moment, and this goes outside of work. Play it off and act like you didn’t recognize the person and keep it moving. Or start joking with them, shooting the breeze, and make less of an awkward situation. You have about a fraction of a second to make up your move, and then it becomes a potentially catastrophic event. It always turns catastrophic for me. Like tsunami sized catastrophic.

 Back to the traffic stop. There’s always little things that I look for when at the vehicle. I treat it like a game of chess. I play my move based off the responses that I receive from the individual.  To be honest, the questions I ask are loaded anyways. I already know the answer, you already know the answer, and I’m usually already three moves ahead of you. It’s old school. It makes honest people honest, and liars, well, liars.   My game plan was WRECKED the minute I opened my mouth to talk to this individual. “Hey sir, State Police, can I see your license, registration and proof of insurance? “I stopped, paused, and began grimacing inwardly.  As I looked at the eyes, I knew I recognized them. Let’s name this individual “Eric.” And let’s say “Eric” had one of the 4 professions that the wise man told me to seek out in the beginning of this little tale.

 Now, I had two options with Eric. And I only had that fraction of a second to figure it out while talking a foot and a half away from this individuals face. I could act like I didn't know who he was, or I could start joking around and shoot the breeze with him. Obviously I picked the wrong one.  The question I found asking myself was “DID HE KNOW IT WAS ME!?” I've heard that oftentimes with one wearing the law enforcement uniform people disassociate a face. They just see the badge, gun, and flashy lights and forget the face. I was praying to God he didn't recognize me. I tried the first option. Be professional, be polite and see if he knew it was me. FAIL.

He recognized me. He was relaxed, smiling and loose. I knew then that my cover was burned and that I was about to win the Nobel peace prize for awkward moments. He had zero fear of consequences happening to him. Eric handed me his license, registration, and proof of insurance and began chuckling at me. I smiled awkwardly back I’m sure, and still tried to play it off as if I didn’t know it was him. I began using more “sirs” than an English squire in attempt to make him do a double take and think maybe I had a twin. I was thinking, “God, why didn't you give me a TWIN!!!??? “ Didn’t work. ENTER AWKARDNESS.

I looked at the license, then back at Eric. He must have sensed my reserved nature andNow I know how my mother felt when I lied straight to her face as a kid and she knew it.

began trying to play it off too. “Great,” I thought. “Now we’re both going to act like we don’t know each other.” Somewhere I knew the awkward gods were crying with laughter.  I made the first move to get the party popping. I smiled again. “Eric, how much have you had to drink tonight?” Eric laughed, “Aww sir, not a thing!” “Ah, he get’s it,” I thought “He’s calling me sir right back.” I looked at his eyes. They held an arrogant look to them. They also told me different about his drinking that night. We can cue that awkward moment when someone lies straight to your face and you know it-but they don’t.

I dropped my smile and stared at Eric. Cue awkward silence again. I continued to look at him, the awkwardness ever growing. My face was hot red and I knew it. Thank God for dark nights. Eric continued on smiling, “Look sir, I just got done dropping some people off man. My ex-girl kissed me goodnight, she was drinking with her people so that’s why you smell alcohol on me and in the car.” Inside I was dying to tell Eric how rich I would be for every time I heard that story.  Cue awkward silence. He was trying to smooth talk me. Not happening. The elephant was growing. I knew what to say, I just didn’t want to say it. But I did. I faked the best fake smile ever again. “Eric, you mind stepping out of the car for me so I can check your eyes to see that you’re good to drive?” The elephant now had a pink tutu on. Eric laughed at me like it was all a big joke. “Why?” he drawled out. His eyes were about as glossy and bloodshot as ever as I looked at him. I tried to put it as gently as possible, but anything stated by law is not going to be gentle.  “Well sir, due to the condition of you’re driving and the intoxicant’s that are coming from the passenger compartment of the vehicle, I have enough probable cause to ask you to do so.” Eric looked at me and then busted out laughing again.  “Dude that was a sweet speech SIR, they taught you well.” He couldn’t go without throwing that little lick in there. Cue boiling anger. Eric stumbled out of the car, and went to the front of the bumper, smiling and laughing as if the whole thing was comical. I was about to jump off a diving board of awkwardness. I’m sure had it not been for my red strobes hitting my face he could have easily seen the awkward red look on my face.

Eric bombed all the honesty check questions I asked him. I checked Eric’s eyes, and gave him other tasks to accomplish while he was outside of the car. The whole time Eric simply laughed and was trying to joke with me while I attempted to do my job. AWKWARD. I could imagine awkward bats probably circling overhead  the traffic stop comically laughing. My partner, at the beginning of the traffic stop, saw that everything was ok, gave me an awkward look and headed back to the patrol car to begin Eric’s paperwork. He already knew what I was going to do. Plus, if there were no drugs or guns he didn’t have a reason to stay up there with me. Eric didn’t have a clue how far gone he was. He was blitzed. Then came the most interesting part for me, where the elephant in the room put on pink ballerina shoes and began waltzing around. The PBT. That little thing where you blow into a straw and it tells you the level of intoxication.

And that’s where the gloves came off for Eric. As I waited for the results, Eric became desperate. “Bro! Look at me, look at me.” Like I a wasn’t already looking at him. Eric was becoming unpredictable. He got close enough to me to where I smelled the alcohol rolling off him. I began wondering in my brain if he had been drinking Jameson or Jack. “Look man, I know it’s you! And I know you know that it’s me!” I looked at Eric, and he continued. “Look, straight up man to man, I made a mistake. We all make mistakes, just let me go man, I promise I won’t do it again. We’re boy’s right?”  I politely put my arm on Eric’s chest and told him to take a step back for me so we could talk.

Just to clarify about knowing Eric. I had seen Eric about four or five times throughout the course of business the last several months. We were courteous with each other, shot the breeze a couple of times. I highly doubt if that qualified as us being “boy’s.” Before I could respond, “My PBT chirped to let me know that I had a reading and I glanced down at it. My suspicion was confirmed. He was more then 3 times over the legal limit. I’ll let you do the math. I knew what I had to do.  I looked at Eric and he looked at me, “Just tell me straight man, am I going to jail?”

There’s no easy way to sugar coat telling someone they are going to jail. What was I going to say? Yes, Eric, you’re going to jail, but don’t worry they have fluffed pillows and solid room service! No. So like all awkward things, the bull in china shop effect took over. “Yes. You are. Eric, turn around and put your hands behind your back. You made a mistake and you’ll get through it.”

I felt sorry for my partner who was in the passenger seat watching this whole ordeal take place. He had no clue what just happened. Nor did I know what was about to happen as I escorted Eric to the back of my patrol car. The awkwardness was about to graduate to idiocracy.  Eric turned into a drunken rage in the backseat. Now, I can take a lot. And so can my partner. What we can’t take is idioracy. Once I got Eric in the back seat, he let loose a very impressive string of cuss words directed at me and my partner. Nothing new. This wasn’t my first rodeo. And my partner had 15 plus years. As I we waited for a tow truck for his car, Eric tried to hit the homerun with both of us. “Well sir, is this what you wanted you little (insert choice words.) I bet if you take these cuff’s off I’ll show you who the bigger man is, you (insert choice words.) My partner began chuckling. He knew what I was capable off. “Oh what’s funny did I say something funny?” Eric spat out.

“Sir you need to calm down.” My partner had a very valid point. But that phrase never works. “Oh I need to calm down?” Eric drawled out. I turned to look at Eric, who began screaming at the top of his lungs “WE WE WERE BROTHERS! WE WERE BROTHERS YOU AND I! AND YOU DID THIS TO YOUR BROTHER?” *Cue another string of cuss words.*  Eric continued “I see what you did, you did this to get with my ex-girlfriend didn’t you you little (cue cuss words.) I turned towards Eric to begin talking to him to explain that I didn’t even know he had an ex-girlfriend, but he cut me off, “Dude, I hope you have such a good lawyer because I’m going to sue the hell out of you.” “ My partner began reading Erich is chemical test rights. “No, eff you dude, You both are racists.” I can honestly say that’s the first time I’ve ever been called a racist. I can also honestly say that’s probably the first I’ve heard of two African-American cops get called a racist. My partner was looking at me with an incredulous look on his face “Do you know this guy?” I turned at him and whispered, “Not anymore.”

 Needless to say I don’t go to that place of business anymore… Let’s just say life is one big awkward sandwich…

***All stories told are true events I have had on my job. Secondly, every one of my stories that I tell have all been closed by arrest or court decision. And lastly, all the names I use are fake, and if I deem so, profession too.***

My First Encounter

"So I’m finding out that myself and strippers don’t mix."

Not at all. And when I say not mixing, I mean an oil- water combination. My partner has always told me, “Oh don’t you worry, you will be able to tell instantly when it’s a stripper that you’ve pulled over.” I’ve always wondered about that. Cue first encounter with pulling over a stripper. You never know what you’re going to get when walking up to a car. I think more along the lines of  "hope for the best, plan for the worst."  So far, at least at last count, I still have 10 toes and 10 fingers.

"The first thing I noticed when I walked up to the window was the eyes that followed my every move through the side mirror." Most people begin squirming in the car, trying to find paperwork or look at the flashing lights behind them, find them too bright, and then look forward. I thought that was a bit odd…but nope, those eyes stared right at the back me defiantly. She was prepping for a fight. “Here we go,” I thought. It had already been an emotionally draining and chaotic night and I sensed it wasn’t going to get any calmer.  My 6^th sense was already going off.  I knew she couldn’t see me walking up to her car, but she was still looking back. The window rolled down and I knew it this was going to be a game of wits.

"As soon I stuck my head down to talk to her at her tiny car, she blew a cloud of smoke into my face. Cue boiling anger." Biggest pet peeve ever is when someone blows smoke into my face. “Ma’am, please put the cigarette out while I talk to you.” Defiant eyes stared right back at me.” She flipped her hair back, took another hit blew it the opposite way and then flipped the cigarette right past my left ear. “Sure darling.” Cue second bout of boiling anger. I hate it when females use the words “Sweetie, darling, honey, or any affectionate term with talking with me.”  My anger was through the roof. But was I going to do, arrest her for being a jerk? She was sizing me up, poking and prodding. “Very well,” I thought, “Two can play this game.”

“Ma’am, State Police can I see your license and registration please?” Usually when talking with a normal person, they are a bit flustered, begin scrambling around the car searching for their information, and 90% of the time pause momentarily to look at me while I explain the reason for my traffic stop. Most people end with “I’m sorry officer, here’s my information, I’m running late etc…” Most times it’s all about the attitude. Not with this chick, she raised herself up higher using her steering wheel and looked me dead in the eye. “What in the hell did I do wrong??” “Oh here we go,” I thought.

 Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t blame strippers for being rude, they deal probably with more idiots than I do a night, and if someone touches me I can take them to jail. I do, however, blame strippers who are rude to me. I’m about as respectful as it comes when doing my job. And when you change lanes without a turn signal, blaze across two lanes of traffic and attempt to turn the wrong way onto a 1 way street, well that’s going to warrant a little talking to.

After I explained all this to her, she responded with the classic line. “There’s people getting killed in this city and you have nothing better to do than pull me over?” Cue another bout of boiling anger from the pet peeve jar. She then stared at me for a couple of cold seconds while I looked right back at her. I again repeated myself, “Ma’am license, registration, AND proof of insurance please.

She gave me a look that could have killed cancer and turned around to look in her glove box. I lowered my head a bit more to get a whiff of the car. And there it hit me.  The overwhelming smell of perfume, cologne, and cigarettes. It was almost as if someone had set off a perfume bomb in the vehicle, put a week’s worth of old cologne in it, and then covered the car with smoke. Instantly it popped into my brain, “Ma’am, where are you coming from?” This delightful individual once again killed me with kindness.  “Where do you think? Strolling downtown?” She gave me a look that assumed I was dumb and stated “I work at the strip club.” “Ok, ma’am I’m just asking.” I returned to my car where my partner immediately informed me that she had a warrant for her arrest. After a brief conversation, I returned to her car.

 For privacy, we will nickname this girl Stacy. As I returned to Stacy’s car I prepped for the worst. “Stacy, can you step out of the vehicle for me please?” Again, the glaring eyes. “What did I do wrong?”  As a police officer when I ask you to step out of the vehicle I’m not doing it to have a little chat on the side of the road because I can see that your legs are cramping up. Usually it ends with me putting you in cuffs. Again, I repeated myself, “Ma’am I’m not going to ask you again, step out of the vehicle you have a warrant for her arrest.” Stacy looked up at me again, smiled, and flicked her hair and then stated “Wow, look at you Mr. tough guy asking a girl to step out of the car. Don’t you feel like a hero all high and mighty?” There are very few people in the world, if any that can push me to lose my temper. I was thinking of all the smart aleck comebacks I could say to this girl. She had managed to hit all my button’s in one conversation and I was about to lose it with her. And she knew it. But one thing I pride myself on is taking the high road, being respectful, holding my tongue and let the courts figure it all out.

See what Stacy didn’t know was that even before I went back up to the car to arrest her, I was planning on releasing her that night. Her warrant was a type where you could either haul her down to jail or release her on an OR bond. She had no clue that I was going to get her information in the car, take her out of cuffs, give her a court date, and let her go on her merry way. However, as I escorted her back to the car the name calling continued. Once she was secured in the back of my vehicle, she shut down. 1 word replies. Short responses. Curt answers. She was on the defensive, and was fighting like a caged animal.

It had been a long night. My partner who was sitting next to me received the same treatment from her. “Ma’am why are you being so disrespectful towards us, what did we do?” he asked. Short pause. I looked back at Stacy. She defiantly responded “I was at work all day getting hit on, grabbed, and poked. I’ve been on my feet all day, and all I want to do is GO HOME AND SLEEP.” She practically shouted it at us. My blood was boiling. My partner immediately countered. “Ma’am there is nothing better that I would rather do than to let you go home and sleep. But you have to understand that this is MY job. You had the warrant. You did the deed. Please respect it, and please respect us.” Her response: “I still didn’t do anything.”

Stacy threw in one last shot as I filled in the last of her information into the computer. “You guys really have nothing better than harass people huh?? When’s the last time you had a tough night? You haven’t had as tough a night as I had I bet you. I’ve been on my feet all day, dealing with idiots. You guys barely do anything I bet.”

My partner paused and clicked his pen into his breast pocket before calmly answering her. “Stacy you are getting released tonight. My partner is going to walk around to your side of the car, get your signature, and you will be free to go this night. Please show up for court.He then calmly continued. “ And Stacy, please do not assume anything about my partner and I. "We don’t judge you for what you do, please do not judge us for what we do." I looked in the rear view mirror at Stacy. She had a dumbfounded look on her face. My partner continued “And for your information Stacy, before pulling you over, our last call was responding to a homicide where a young man was tracked down and shot to death at a poker game no more than an hour ago. So please don’t assume.”

Stacy was silent as I got her out of the car. She looked at the ground as she signed her signature to her OR bond. As I bid her a good night, Stacy apologized. “I’m sorry officer. I was acting like an idiot.”

 There was not much that I could say to Stacy except what my partner had just stated to her. “Once again Stacy, I don’t judge you, please don’t judge me. Please drive safe and show up to court for your appearance.” Stacy nodded and got back into her car and drove off.

I then continued on with my night.

"This is why strippers and I do not mix."