I got pulled over today. Not the first time, nor will it be the last.
I went past a school bus in the process of slowing down and turning it's lights on to let the kids
out. The black Taurus behind me had been tailing me for at least three blocks and it didn't seem to want to slow down, so
I went past the bus as I saw the yellow flashing lights come on. Note, not the red ones, not the little red sign that says
STOP, just the preliminary "Hey, I'm slowing down" yellow lights. It was a bad decision. Apparently I should've let the black
Taurus rear-end me, sacrificing my gorgeous, much-loved red Eclipse. At least, this was apparent to Officer B.C. Hith of the
West Jordan police, who saw fit to pull me over at the next gas station. I got out my driver's license and registration and
proof of insurance (the card had not been updated yet, but I knew it was paid) to this very surly officer. For once in my
life I was not flippant with the man, I was even courteous, which happens perhaps once every two years. So he went and sat
in his car and checked out the insurance and my license. (I know the process, my brother-in-law, whose child I tend every
day is a police officer and comes from a family of police officers that I am closer to than my own.) I knew I had a clean
record. I had been pulled over and cited once, but I contested that ticket and won. So, Officer Hith brought his surly, unshaven
self back to my window and gave me my license, registration, and out-dated insurance card back and asked if I knew why he
pulled me over.
I said, "Yes, sir. I went past the school bus instead of being rear-ended. And now you're going to
give me the citation that is the recourse of my actions and I accept that responsibly as the effect." I didn't mock him with
the sir, I didn't get patronizing with my comment, I just told the truth.
His reply was, "Yes. Do you have any kids yet?"
In my head this absurd question got an answer very much like, "Gee, sir, ya just had my driver's license.
Didn't you write on that ticket that I am only 17. Oh, wait. I'm in Utah. Mormon 17-year-old girls are often married with
kids."
But, again I was good.
I actually said, "No, sir, I don't."
Dear Officer Hith got huffy and said, "Well, I do and I'd hate for them to get hit by someone like
you as they got off the bus." Athough his grammar left much to be desired, I've cleaned it up in my memory.
My head said, "You mean by someone in a brightly red sports car with many attitudish bumper stickers
who happens to have pink hair at the moment and is dressed all in black?"
My mouth said, "I'd hate for that to happen as well, Sir."
Officer Hith then said what really pissed me off. "I could have pulled over the two cars in front of
you, too, you know."
My head screamed, "You mean the two cars I had to go around to get the gas station? The two cars you
passed, as well, to get here? BS, Officer Hith. You pulled me over because I drive this car and look this way and you know
if I contest this in court I'll lose."
I said, "May I ask why you didn't, sir?"
"No," came the curt reply. He continued, raising his voice, "So here's your citation. Call the number
in the upper left hand corner in no sooner than five days and no more than fourteen to have it taken care of." And he started
to walk away.
I leaned my head out of my window and said, "Have a nice day, Officer Hith." I made sure I smiled big
at him as he got back in his car.
So he was a moron with penis-envy, a badge, and a gun who was willing to assume that I was an ignorant
rebellious teenager from my car and my appearance. I hope his kids grow up to be just like me.
Now then, my second encounter was a much nicer experience.
I yelled at Officer Hith all the way down I-215 to the I-15 on ramp. Then I calmed down. I was driving
along at 65, which is amazingly slow for me, but I figured I was already marked by getting pulled over once. And, sure enough,
there came the Highway Patrol Officer up behind me. He got into the left lane and drove up alongside me and then hung back
just out of my blindspot. I knew he was going to pull me over, I just didn't know what for yet. So I pulled over into the
slow lane and he pulled over into the middle lane; that confirmed my belief. Not wanting him to have to make the effort to
turn on his lights, I pulled off into the median and he pulled up behind me. I rolled down the passenger side window and he
came up and crouched, arms resting on the door, a smile on his face.
"Do you know why I pulled you over?" he pleasantly asked.
"No, Officer, not really. It's a trend today." I held up the previous ticket I'd gotten and he laughed.
I handed him my license, registration and proof of insurance, which were all still out.
He tapped on the inside of my windshield which has a nasty crack running all along the bottom. Also,
which I have scheduled to be replaced at 8:00 am on Monday. (Today is Friday.) "You really shouldn't drive with your windshield
like this."
I told him when it was to be fixed and that I was aware of that.
"And the smoke plate you have over your license needs to come off, too." He looked at me.
I thought for a minute and then remembered I'd never taken it off although I'd had the car for a year
now. So I nodded.
He gave me a fix-it ticket.
I commented that I was lucky I hadn't been speeding. He agreed.
He spoke with me very amicably about how to take care of the fix-it ticket, which I already knew, but
he's required to go over. Then he advised me to get my speed up before I got back on the freeway, saying he didn't think that
would be too difficult in my car. I thanked him, (after Officer Hith, I would've kissed his feet), he got back in his car,
and we both pulled away.
I wish I could read his name on the ticket... It starts with an S. Officer S - scribble scribble scribble
scribble, etc. I truly admire that Highway Patrol Officer. Whether he pulled me over because he just thought someone who drove
a car like mine needed a little ticket, or because he was actually concerned, I don't care. He could've gotten back in his
car and said all kinds of nasty things about me and my hair and clothes, but it doesn't matter, because while he was doing
his job he put them aside and treated me like a decent human being. Bravo, Mr. Highway Patrol Officer, bravo! I also know
that my brother in law, Officer S. Parks with the South Salt Lake P.D. puts his biases aside when he works. Granted, he comes
home and lets them all out, but never does he treat anyone he pulls over or serves a warrant on with any less respect than
he would your normal-looking American.
Hey, Officer B.C. Hith with West Jordan, take a lesson, jerk!
Another thing I'd like to note; my Highway Patrol Officer had a laptop to print out all my information
and ticket. Dear Officer Hith did it by hand. But I guess you have to have a certain level of test-able I.Q. to be given a
laptop. Officer Hith could barely shave himself, let alone copy from my driver's license legibly on my citation. Who knows
what his real name is. Looks like B.C. Hith to me. My Highway Patrol Officer, however, I forgive for his illegible handwriting,
as there were semi-trucks and countless cars going by. And it was a windy day today.
By the way, this all took place on March 12, for my own future reference.
And, for an update: On March 30 I went to pay my ticket from wondermous Officer Hith at the West Jordan
city offices. A magnificent and extravagant building. It was $85.00 to just pay it off. Being as I was not big on seeing Hith
again, in court to ask if I could just do traffic school, I simply paid it.
I sent my ticket in to the Utah Highway Patrol about a week ago after having my windshield repaired
and the smoke screen taken off my license plate. My brother in law glanced my car over, signed it, and mailed it for me on
his way to work for South Salt Lake.
