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In reply to the discussion: White DUers: Tell Your Stories [View all]Mister Ed
(5,940 posts)In my younger days, I worked for a while as a house-painter, doing some work for a local building contractor. Once, he sent me to paint the exterior of a new addition he had built onto a house in an affluent, sprawling private community, full of nice houses on large wooded lots.
Shortly after I finished my day's work and started to drive away, I passed a county sheriff headed in the other direction. I looked in my rear-view mirror and was astonished to see her sliding into a sharp cop-turn to reverse course right in the middle of the road. She followed me for a mile and a half, talking on her radio and obviously running a make on my plates. I toed the line carefully, sticking to the speed limit and signalling every turn, so as not to give her cause to pull me over.
Finally, at a stop-sign near the exit gate, she turned on her lights to stop me. The bogus reason that she gave was that my brake-lights had been flickering when I stopped at the sign. Ever try to prove that your brake-lights didn't flicker a moment ago?
She detained me until the building contractor who had sent me could be contacted to vouch for me and verify that I had legitimate business in the neighborhood.
Now, to be fair, this was the only time I was ever treated that way when driving in that community. Truth be told, I grew up in that community. Learned to drive there. Probably raised a little hell there as a teenager.
But this was the first time I ever showed up there with Terence, my black friend and co-worker, in my car.