Dear Officer J. (Compassionless Dick) Delgehausen,
When you asked me if I knew how fast I was going and I told you that my
car [shitty, rusted out, 1996 Toyota] doesn't have cruise control and
that I'd been working since Friday and I may have been going too fast
because I just really wanted to be home, I didn't mean that I had just
worked 3 days in a row, I meant that I have literally been working since
4pm on Friday, nonstop.
I didn't mention that I take care of
developmentally disabled people for a living (wipe asses, give baths,
and dispense affection while maintaining a level of patience you most
likely couldn't even comprehend) or that I've been sick for two weeks
and got exactly four hours of sleep total the past two nights and had to
sit in an emergency room with a client for five hours on Friday while
staring at a hospital bed and having PTSD fueled flashbacks.
Nor
did I mention that I have had exactly one positive interaction with a
cop out of the hundreds of times I've been forced to communicate your
kind.
I said nothing about that time an enormous group of you
cornered me and someone I loved and attacked us with pepper spray and
tear gas for standing on a street.
Not a word about how I already
paid my annual pointless $200 when my car got towed two weeks ago
because the government (who pays you) can't think of a better way to
inform people they are sweeping the streets than putting up signs ONE
day beforehand.
I didn't even say anything about the SUV that
sped past me as you pulled out of the ditch and turned your lights on,
or the fact that I was going 70-- the speed everyone and their
grandmother drives on city interstates.
Instead I handed you my
insurance card (whose premium will now be unaffordable) and sat in my
car blinded by your unnecessary spot light garishly mocking my bad
fortune with defeated tears in my eyes.
It must be tough to
be a white male working the Eden Prairie beat. I'm sure you had a hard
day pulling over the masses of needlessly extravagant BMW, Lexus,
Cadillac, SUV driving affluent over privileged populous of Midwestern
suburban America. Of course it wasn't at all obvious to you that I
really can't afford a speeding ticket-- my very loud and rusty 20 year
old car apparently didn't give that away. Or maybe it did and that's why you never made eye contact, I saw only your nose and chin. I'm sure you also didn't
notice the sticker on the back that says,"What wisdom can you find that
is greater than kindness?" Or maybe you did, and kindness just isn't
your thing-- you have a quota after all. The state needs money to build
a new stadium for the bratty, ultimatum declaring athletes who are paid
millions of dollars a year while families lose their homes and people
beg for money on corners.
Melodramatic? A bit. But it would really
be nice if there were some human cops out there. Maybe you could try
that next time Officer D, eh?
All my love,
Miss Norlin
P.S. I'll be contesting your ticket with normal colored hair, no
piercings or visible tattoos, and a well pressed suit jacket. See you
then, pal!
