Friday, August 28, 2009

Arrest The Rat B*stard Already

Sorry, no images in this blog but it will explain my reference to Johnny Law contained in this post.

Now this is a kind of all over the board post, but with a central theme, Johnny, or Jill, Law.

Several years ago, I was building speculative homes in Sl-Ocala, Florida, prior to the boom busting in a way big way. A buddy of mine, Terry, from down in Naples, was building a few up there also. He drove his big*ssed F-250 Light Duty pick-em-up truck up from FantasyLand (by the way, I have eaten at the Mangrove Cafe and it is gooood) and one weekend, I ran him back to Naples.

No comment on the 46 hours of Naples flat tire change on that trip in my olenowwreckedragtop.

Terry returned to Sl-Ocala in one of the economy cars he had in his fleet and it became his regular means of commuting between those two cities, coming up early Monday morning and heading back to his beautiful bride on Thursday evening. He stayed with me in the big house, of which I was in possession, during the week. It was a blast, great dinner parties, lively conversation and, best of all, companionship with someone with whom I had a lot in common.

The last home I lived in in Naples, prior to my Sl-Ocala move, was Terry and Debbie's (referred to about halfway through this post) "little house". It was by far the most fun home I have lived in during my single life. A little "Miami Beach" bungalow, about 900 square feet, designed in the 50's, terrazo floors, carport out front which I promptly converted to the outdoor living space. I was able to procure some used brick pavers which Terry had installed by a group of Hispanics.

It was funny, while these dudes were doing that install, one of the crew leaders was sharpening a construction pencil with a machete. Terry and I were observing this and he turned to me and said, "A Mexican utility knife." To this day, we still call a machete the same thing.

And I had a standing invitation to their home for Christmas dinner.

So, anyway, I had unrestricted access to this big*ssed truck, long before I had purchased Casper.

Well, down south of Sl-Ocala, in Bushnell, Florida, at the Sumter County Fairgrounds, it was about 45 minutes away, the first Sunday of every month, except the hot summer months, an automotive swap meet is held.

Well, I had decided I needed a small trailer on which to transport my John Deere lawn tractor to my sister's spec house so didn't have to spend a small fortune each month keeping up that lawn, too. I drove Terry's big*ssed pickemuptruck down to that swap meet as there were deals to be had there, not just on the trailer but on a used frame mounted trailer hitch for my Jeep Grand Cherokee.

Well, as the case may be, this particular edition of that swap meet contained no trailer deals and, as a result, I would wait for the hitch deal until I could find a trailer also.

Now, I don't really remember, but I am confident I found something to, at some point in the future, adorn the walls of the Taj Mahal.

So, I leave this pretty cool, yet small, swapmeet, staying off the major four lane roadway, I-75, heading back toward Sl-Ocala, and I realize I have been on every roadway in this area and decide to jump on that Eisenhour Roadway System to get home as quickly as possible so I can spend a wonderful evening with my favorite 5th grade school teacher before she has to head off to influence the minds of those magnet school pupils of hers.

So, I turn off Florida State Road 44 onto the on ramp to I-75. And what do I see in the distance?

Both lanes of traffic stopped in the middle of this Interstate system.

Well, as I am not 25 yards onto this on-ramp, I decide to hit the shoulder and back up to get back on SR 44 and head over to US 441 and utilize the surface roads back to the big house in Sl-Ocala.

As I am backing up, I hear the "whoop-whoop" that emanates from those Defenders of The Public's Crown Victorias down here in the Sunshine State.

Yeah, it is a Sumter County Sheriff's Department squad car, and its occupant was obviously upset she missed out on all the fun of administering her law enforcement abilities during the incident causing the traffic backup on I-75.

She was going to pop this olelongrooffan for backing up on the shoulder of this on-ramp.

As I stopped, I noticed another of Sumter County's finest finish off a ticket off in the distance on this on-ramp, and that driver was allowed to proceed onto that congested Interstate System.

So, Jill Law approaches this olelongrooffan driving this big*ssed pickemuptruck doing the usual "license, registration and insurance" request.

Jill Law mentions that it is illegal to back down an Interstate on-ramp. Apparently even on the shoulder.

But, as Jill Law is checking my credentials, I notice a co-worker of hers backing down the shoulder of that on-ramp to join his co-worker in whatever actions she decided she was going inflict on this olelongrooffan.

So, here is the olelongrooffan, naturally dressed in a Polo Oxford Button Down shirt, acquired very cheaply on ebay, shorts and loafers, watching the goings on the rear view mirrors of my buddy's big*ssed pickemuptruck and wondering what is going on?

Jill Law then approaches the rear bumper and politely asks "Mr. Lee, please get out of your vehicle and approach the rear of the vehicle."

So Not Good.

Now I am really scared. She has a hand on the butt of her service revolver and is, to me, extremely menacing.

So, I get out of the Dearborne, Michigan originated product, with my hands in plain sight, and approach the rear of Terry's truck.

As I reach it, she instructs me to place my hands on the hood of her Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor, badged with every logo the Sumter County, Florida Sheriff's Office can think of, and kicks my legs apart and proceeds to perform a full bodied pat down of this oleman.

Now, normally, when this happens to this oleunemployedconstruction worker, it is kind of fun. But, I have to tell you, this time, I was scared out of my wits.

When Jill Law determined I possessed nothing that would endanger her, she placed this oleman in, behind the back, hand cuffs.

Now, once, when I was a teenager, this happened to me back up in my olehometown, and the bus was a contributing factor in my dealing with this factor. And all turned out well in that endeavour. Thanks again.

But here I am in Central Florida, dealing with a Deputy Sheriff, around my age, who is having a ton-o-fun strutting her stuff.

Well, I have to tell you. Sitting in the rear seat of that Interceptor with my hands cuffed behind me is something I would not wish on Anyone.

So, here I am, sitting in the prisoner's seat of Jill Law's Crown Vic and I ask, "What is my ultimate destination?". "We are heading to the Sumter County Jail and your big*ass truck will be impounded."

"Wait," I ask, "this is merely for backing down an Interstate ramp, something I didn't even know was against the law?"

"No, Mr. Lee," she replied, "There is an outstanding warrant for your arrest for burglary in Marion County, (incidentally the home of Sl-Ocala) dating from 1994.

Well, as restrained as I am in the rear of that olecrownvic, I mention that I did not even know that Marion County was even a part of the Great State of Florida until I moved there in 2003, I doubted I was a part of that 1994 action.

I heard the dude, who had written up the other law breaker and let him get onto that Interstate System, ask Jill Law, "Why are you even messing with this?"

Missed her reply, though.

So, after about twenty five long minutes in the back seat of this squad car, she gets on her radio to call a tow truck, I asked her if I could get someone to come pick it up. She replies in the affirmative, and removes me from the back seat. She then gets me out of those behind the back hand cuffs and re-cuffs me in front so I can use my trusty cell phone to call my favorite 5th grade school teacher to come and get me. She then, again, puts me in the back seat.

Another fifteen minutes later, she runs what is, here in the great state of Florida, a driver's license address history check, called a "David Report" and realizes she has the wrong John David Lee.

You see, there is another hoon named John David Lee living out in the Ocala National Forest with all the other rednecks out there. And his license number is two digits off from mine!

So, after what seems like an hour, she uncuffs me and then proceeds to write me a $134 ticket for "improper backing", much like the Kid got.

Well, by then the traffic on I-75 had cleared up and I got the h*ll out of dodge, never to return again.

This past week, I was driving south on A1A, going to meet Manuel Labor and seeing this, when I noticed a Daytona Beach Shores badged Ford Explorer rapidly approaching me but in the other lane and then once he was within a few car lengths behind me, he slowed to the same, lawful, speed I was driving.

A short time later, he turns on those flashing blue lights and I pull off onto a side street.

I follow my standard routine in this situation. Car off, keys on dash, hand in plain sight on the steering wheel.

A youthful Officer Cox approaches me with his hand on the butt of his pistol and I am thinking WTF?

He introduces himself and ask for my license and registration. I gingerly remove those items and hand them over. He accepts them with his left hand, as his right hand was still on his pistol.

He then mentions to me that the reason he pulled me over was there might be an outstanding warrant for my arrest.

He asks me if I have any weapons and I commented the only weapons I have are those tools in those satchels you see in the back seat.

Just then, two Daytona Beach Shores badged Crown Vics pull up with their blue lights flashing. One of the them pulls up in front of me so I could not drive off. As if. The driver got out and watched me from over the roof of that patrol car, with his hand on the butt of his pistol.

Scared sh*tless, I am.

A few minutes later, that young police officer approached the oleragtop and returned my information to me.

He stated that 99% of the information is correct for the arrest of me. I commented I was sure happy about the other 1%. He started laughing and the other two cops moved in a little closer.

I related to Officer Cox my interaction with Sumter County's finest and he mentioned that officer didn't seem to be very thorough.

I commented, and I quote, "Catch that f*cker will ya?"

"We're trying," was his response.

I said to him "Stay safe." and drove off.

And believe me when I say this, when Florida's finest do Arrest That Rat B*stard, I will really

Celebrate Life.

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