Profiled--twice!

Okay, to date, it's been about two weeks since I moved from Hillcrest, post breakup and over to City Heights with my friend Will.  But in that two weeks, the most outrageous thing that has happened to me since my arrival to City Heights has to be my run ins with the San Diego Police Department.  

Two times in the span of seven days!  Check this out.  

My first run in occurred Friday (10 October) around 1:00 a.m.  I left Will's house and set out on my bike, heading for Kensington.  There's really no need for me to explain what my destination was, simply because--it was one in the morning and there I was out on my bike.  In other words, I was headed to a booty call.  At a stoplight along Fairmount Avenue, I noticed the squad car to my left, ready to make a left hand turn near the City Heights police station.  A few seconds before the stoplight turned green, I began peddling, crossing through the intersection and continuing on Fairmount.   I barely made it a hundred feet from the intersection before I had a spotlight glaring on me from the left side.  

It was the police car; veering towards me with one of the policemen climbing out of the car and running towards me.  

"Hands out of your pockets!  Hands out of your pockets!"  He yelled, flashlight glaring on me with his right hand ready near his weapon.   

"Then could you reach in my pocket and turn off my iPod," I requested.  I still had the earbuds in and the music was blaring.  The officer motioned for me to stop the music. 

They called it a routine stop.   "We do this all the time," the brown haired cop tried to convince me,  "it's routine."  But I think he saw the skepticism in my eyes because suddenly the reason for me being stopped went from being a routine stop to my running the red light--even though there was absolutely no traffic in any direction and, like I mentioned, it was one o'clock in the morning.  

"You can't be serious about stopping me for this,"  I protested, while the other cop was giving me a thorough pat down.  "It's one in the morning and there's no traffic out here.  Hell, I wouldn't have said anything had you guys ran that light back there." 

I had one cop going through my pockets and my wallet while the other verified my drivers' license information with their dispatcher.  The whole time that this scene is taking place, I'm trying not to glance at my watch or to appear anxious.   I heard the dispatcher radio back that I had no warrants or any kind of record with the police department (even though I'd told them this prior to the cop calling my information in).  

"You've never been in any trouble with the police," brown-haired cop asked me. 

"Nope," I responded. 

"Not even for a routine traffic stop--or anything like that?" 

"Basically," I told him, looking square in his eyes.  "I'm not one of those people that gets in trouble...or that gets caught." 

Needless to say, I didn't get a ticket for running the stop light.  In fact, nothing happened.  But I know the cops stopping me a one o'clock in the morning...when I was on a bicycle, and calling it a routine traffic stop--was nothing more than my being profiled.   And while I was a little frustrated, I wasn't angry.  I simply grabbed my wallet, iPod and cigarettes and returned them to the pockets that they were in initially.    Before the police car took off, I began pedaling up Fairmount Avenue towards Kensington.  

The following Monday (14 October) the same thing happened again!  Only this time, I was leaving my friend, Rich's house in Normal Heights returning to City Heights.  Monday night, Rich and Truc had a party at their place.  In preparation for Halloween and to commemorate the fact that Rich had gotten his backyard all spruced up for fall, he and Truc had a small get-together.  Of course, there was plenty of food, drinks and pot!  Around 1:30 a.m., full, drunk and stoned--I set out, once again, on my bike for Will's place.  

I wasn't even two blocks from Rich's house when the loud siren of an approaching police car pulled up behind me.  

"I saw you run that stop sign back there."  The police officer told me.  

"Are you fucking with me!" I exclaimed.  "I stopped at the sign.  There were no cars coming--it's almost 2 o'clock in the morning!" 

Once again, I handed over my drivers' license and waited while the cop pronounced my name into his radio.  Where the other cops gave me thorough pat down, thankfully this officer didn't because I had a small stash of pot in the front pocket of my jeans.  The officer returned my drivers' license and gave me a 'stern' lecture about obeying the rules of the road, "Even though you're on a bike, you still have to obey them as if you were in a car."  

You know, it's one thing to lecture me when something needs to be corrected or when I've made a mistake, but it really pisses me off when I'm talked down to.  

"Yeah, sure...whatever." I said and once again started pedaling towards City Heights.  

Two times in seven days.  That has to be some kind of record.