Through the Eyes of a Delivery Goddess |
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Last week, I turned up a side street to deliver the ONLY paper on that street, last house on the left, (of course). It's a short street; there are probably ten homes on the street as it climbs a fairly steep grade, and there is no culdsac at the top, just two gravel driveways that "Y" off to the left and right. Since I drive a stick shift, I'm lazy and don't use reverse. I swing toward the left side of the street and turn the wheels to the right, swinging my truck horizontal across the road while I toss the paper into the drievway on the left. I push in the clutch and let it drift backward to the edge of the road, then turn the wheels down the hill while driving forward. In essense, I make a three-point turn at the top of the hill.  Well, as I mentioned, last week I turned up this streed and there was a police car sitting along the right-side of the street at the very top. I did my usual swing to the left, turn to the right making the truck horizontal across the road directly behind the cop, tossed my paper and pulled forward heading down the street. I'm sure we've all had that "little voice" in our heads that say things like "I know that cop is for my benefit, but what am I doing wrong?" By the time I got to the bottom of the street, the cruiser pulled out and headed toward the bottom of the street as well. I made a right at the stop sign, drove about five car lenghts and turned left into a housing plan where I toss one paper to a former neighbor of mine, just out of courtesy. That plan belongs to another carrier, but I don't charge my neighbor for the paper, I just throw it if I have extra, so it might not have been obvious that I was delivering papers, since I wasn't stopping at every couple of houses. The Black and White followed me for about a half mile, turning on his lights at the corner before I turned down my friend's street. I turned on my interior light so he could see my stacks of newspapers. Turns out, someone on that short, hilly street complained about my lights shining in their window at night. After some discussion, the cop and I determined that the pepole who complained about the peeping lights is the only person on the street who gets a paper. If I turn out my lights, since there's no culdesac and just a road the ends in two gravel driveways, I will end up driving over a bank and into someone's yard, ... probably the people who complained. They were sitting on the same street the next day, but didn't bothter me about it - perhaps just making sure it was ME they were really needing to repremand. That was a week ago. This morning, as I approached the bottom of that same street, a police cruiser who happened to be driving past on the main street slammed on his brakes, blocking the exit from the road I was on and shined his 400,000 candle power light into my windshield.  He didn't move for at least thirty seconds; I started spitting out choice words after ten. They already determined it was me shining the light in the window, what on earth was his problem NOW? The cop finally continued down the road, but very slowly. I made my turn into my friend's housing plan expecting to see reds and blues behind me, but he apparently never turned around.I left my friend's plan, continued down the main road and turned into a housing plan that is on my route. I got to the second street, and a police Blazer pulled out in front of me, across the road, so I couldn't get through. He got out of his SUV with his flashlight, shined around the inside of my truck (of course), and said, "You might want to go to another part of the plan; we are chasing someone here right now." I said, "I'll do you one better - I'll do the rest of my route and come back, it will be about an hour. Will that be OK?" He nodded. Just as I put my truck into reverse, another police SUV squealed to a stop across the road behind me, blocking my exit completely. I believe I waited three or four minutes for the short, stalky, cocky officer behind me to consult with the easier-going fellow who'd just suggested that I 'come back later' to confirm I was 'free to go'. I left that plan, drove about three tenths of a mile to another housing plan, making three turns to get there.  As I turned from Turner Road, the main road going past the police-infested plan I just left, onto Hardies, another police car followed me, but from a different township. As I turned, I left one township and entered another; apparently the neighboring townships were on alert in case the vagrant showed up nearby. This guy followed me into the TownHouse plan and hit the lights just as I approached the first house. This is where all of this reading becomes worthwhile....I turned on my interior light  so this uniform would see I was delivering papers. Normally, the stacks of papers beside me on my seat are enough "identification" and they laugh and say, "Oh - ok- go ahead." But this guy figured I was hiding something. (???) He asked to see my driver's license. I told him he had two choices. I used Bob's car yesterday, and my wallet is under his front seat- I can call him and he can be here in three or four minutes, or, I could give him my driver license number and he can look it up to make sure my picture matches what comes up on his screen. Of course, he had to be a big shot and ask, "Why is it that you know your license number by heart?" (Liquior Control Board officers are taught that if someone knows all info on their licesnse by heart, even the number, they probably have someone else's ID, because that's what people do to avoid getting caught. Memorize every number on the card.) So I asked him, "What, are you the LCB now? I know my number because I kept my license in my back pocket in college, and it ended up in the washing machine at least once a month. It didnt' take long before it was ruined and I had to order another one. [he shook his head in disbelief]. It's a sickness. I remember numbers easily." He raised an eyebrow at me upon that comment. I said, "Ok, here's what you do... I dated a fellow in college who is now an Arnold Cop. His Social Security number is '123-45-6789'. (I quoted the correct number, of course). Go ahead and call the Arnold Police station and ask to have him verify that I remember the correct number after not talking to him 25 years later." He glared at me, but wrote down my license number to verify that I am, in fact, Terri Lincoln, and am NOT on the Most Wanted List. I suppose my delay with him was nearly ten minutes. It took me a little over an hour to get back to the original housing plan where all six police cars and various uniformed officers with dogs were crowded into one culdesac of town houses. As I turned to drive past them on the street going past the culdesac, one of the officers decided to floor his SUV and block me from continuing. He got out with his flashlight and inquired about my presense. I replied, "As I told four of your buddies in there (and pointed to the cluster of lights in the culdesac), I am delivering papers. Another township cop just pulled me over on another street and verified that I am who I say I am. If you want my license,...." He interrupted me and said, "Well, you can't go in there," pointing to the culdesac. In my mind I replied "Really, Einstien?" I politely said, "I don't need to, but I DO need to finish - this is the last plan I have to do, I can't go anywhere else now. I finished everything else, and I'll be coming back down this street in about three minute after I throw the other side of the street I just came from." He looked disgusted, got into his truck and backed away so I could finish my route.All told, I was about 30 minutes late getting home this morning. Honestly, I think they owe me coffee and a donut, don't you? 
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