Over the years I’ve had lots of friends that were Highway Patrolmen or policemen or sheriff’s deputies. During those years they had all sorts of adventures. Now most of the people I know that did this kind of work are retired. One thing remains though, they love to tell tales of their exploits and adventures in their line of duty. I call these stories “The True Tales of the Highway Patrol.” If you get two of these guys together there will be a double dose of adventure.
Of course these guys can make the common place an adventure. I had a friend that was a town policeman. I could barely get through town without getting stopped. If he wanted to talk to me, he cut on his lights and siren and stopped me wherever I was. The first time this happened I was rather freaked out. After a few of these stops, I was used to it. I would stop and go get in his patrol car and chat with him a few minutes. There are some advantages to riding in a patrol car though. He asked me to ride with him to deliver a car once. “Do you want me to pick you up?” “No, just ride with me and a deputy will pick us up and bring us back.”
That seemed like a reasonable request until I got in the car with him. We were going to a town 35 miles away. I complained that this trip was going to make me late for a meeting. He kept telling me it wouldn’t be a problem. We delivered the car and his deputy friend pulled up. I wasn’t late because we rode home at 85 miles an hour. I wondered aloud that weren’t they afraid they would be stopped for speeding? They both gave me a funny look as if to say “you know we are the police.”
Guess I wasn’t thinking. Just recently I was with two patrolmen that had worked a full career. They had seen lots of things and had gone through several cycles of new ways of doing things and going back and forth with old timey law enforcement styles. I told them I yearned for the days when 75 during the daytime and 65 at night wasn’t considered speeding. They wished it was like that also.
I’ve known these guys long enough to have heard all their stories more than enough. Some of their tales I can tell better than they can. I did hear a new story just the other though.
My friend was patrolling when a big Mercedes was speeding down the highway. The car had a foreign license plate on it. The driver couldn’t speak English and had some sort of diplomatic license. He kept motioning that he wanted to continue driving and he didn’t understand anything my friend said. He kept pointing at the diplomatic license. Not much progress was being made.
My friend drew a picture of a little stick figure. He pointed at the man and got him to acknowledge that the figure represented him. The diplomat nodded in agreement. Then he drew some jailhouse bars and said that he was going to take the diplomat to jail.
Son of a gun, all of a sudden he started speaking English.