"I need you to step out of the car," the Deputy said. At that moment I knew what was about to happen. What started as a routine traffic stop for speeding had turned into a misdemeanor arrest and an unavoidable night in jail, all because I'd been ticketed for using a cell phone while driving when on business in New York State a few months before, and forgot to pay the ticket.
It was 11:30PM. I was back in Western New York on business. I'd spent a long draining day of driving and dealing and was just trying to get to my accommodations for the night, on a state highway in a rural area. I had about ten miles to go. I pushed the pedal. Red lights in the rear view mirror. I was prepared to pay the ticket. I wasn't prepared to be treated like a felon on the lam.
It seemed like an especially long time for the the Deputy to come back with my ticket. I was tired, fatigued, anxious to be on my way. When he finally returned he asked me, "Did you get a ticket in Warsaw in November?"
"Oh, my God! I forgot all about it." I must have blocked it out. It was a ticket for using a cell phone while driving. Perfectly legal in most places but not in New York, the Nanny State. That-- along with restaurants serving foi gras and trans-fat is a criminal act.
I still didn't get it. I figured I'd get a second ticket for being late on the first one, but I wasn't prepared for, "step out of the car." I've watched enough cop shows to know what that means. Step out of the car means step into the squad car. Handcuffs. Impounded vehicle. All kinds of mess to clean up at what was by then after midnight. But even then I didn't get the full scope of my imminent destiny.
I was told my license had been suspended due to failure to appear on the cell phone ticket. "But I don't have a New York license," I argued. "Your driving privileges in New York have been suspended."
I argued with the Deputy for a few minutes because it just seemed absolutely ludicrous that I, a respectable, productive, peace loving, fraud and force-hating libertarian citizen was being ordered out of my car and to assume the position. Like most uniformed police officers, this young gentleman did not have a sense of humor, an ability to appreciate gray areas, or the ability to discern between levels and degrees of non-compliance.
I now know what it is like to be thrown against my own (in this case rented) vehicle, my hands yanked behind me, cuffs applied too tight, and left to sit in that awkward, painful position in the back of a squad car. I now know what it is like to be led into a rural police station in cuffs as if I just beat my wife, molested a child or robbed a bank, glared at by a part-time judge (who I learned later was a former cop himself) who refused to listen to reason and insisted on sending me to the county jail, thirty miles away, for processing, before I could call make my one phone call.
If I had been a
stranger from Chicago, that would be one thing, but I was in the police station of the town where I grew up. I played high school soccer with the Chief (but they wouldn't wake him). I contribute $1000 to the local high school scholarship fund every year. My father lives in the next town over. And I'm a member of the Chamber of Commerce. "Nope, can't let you go without bond. You're from out of town," the Judge droned.
Still I didn't realize what I was facing. I figured I'd get to Warsaw, get bonded out, and eventually sleep in my old bedroom at my father's house where I stay when I'm doing business back in the old hometown. But it was late. My father is 85 years old. I'd been traveling all week and my credit cards were maxed out. I had a large commission check waiting for me back at the office in Chicago, but that didn't do me any good. I used my one phone call to call my father, who refused to drive until daylight.
Bottom line: Because of talking on a cell phone while driving, I was stripped, underwent a body cavity search, dressed in a jump suit and sent to a cell block for the duration. No, it wasn't the comical holding cell you see on TV filled with hookers and drunks making jokes all night. It was a regular jail cell with regular criminals. I spent the night there, ten hours to be exact. And who knows how many taxpayer dollars were spent to put me through the ordeal. No doubt many times over the amount they will eventually collect in fines. All for talking on a cell phone. For doing something that is perfectly legal in most states.
Sure, I get it. The cell phone law was passed by well-meaning caretaker types who want to protect me from myself. The same people who want to protect me from transfat, and want to protect geese from foi gras. But is it really the intent of these people to strip me of my right to operate a vehicle, my right to basic liberty, to enslave and confine me for twelve hours while the government's meter is running?
As I was riding off to jail, I asked the Deputy. "Don't you see how ludicrous this is?"
"No," he said,"I don't."
"Of course you don't," I said.
"There's a reason why cop cars are often black and white. They're color blind to nuance and irony. Everything is black and white. And our would be nannies in the legislature feed right into all of that. No wonder Mark Twain said, "The legislature is in session. Be very afraid."