Cops

On our way out of NYC a week ago Sunday, we had to stop on the Saw Mill Parkway for a DWI checkpoint. I had had a cocktail and a glass of wine several hours earlier but was not impaired in the least. It's possible that my blood alcohol content might have exceeded the ridiculously low level for driving while intoxicated, so the checkpoint provoked a little anxiety. I was prepared, however, to follow the advice I always give: look the cop right in the eye and lie. If he asks you whether you have been drinking, say "no, I haven't". Never say anything like "I had a couple of beers" or "I had wine with dinner". That's all the thugs need to make you blow in the breathalizer doohickey.

They didn't ask and just waved me through. To be cute, a couple of cops stood just inside my lane and pretty much dared me to brush them with my side mirrors. I didn't, though. That's another piece of free legal advice for you. Don't run over the cops.

I hate it when cops ask me "Do you know why I stopped you?" I do not plan to incriminate myself, and I have a hard time holding back a smart ass rejoinder. Some of the responses that come into my head are:

"Racial profiling?"

"Those warrants from Arizona?"

"You solved all the murders and don't have anything better to do?"

"You're hitting on me?"

Do as I do. Don't say these things out loud. Don't provoke the police, especially bored to death highway patrolmen. They genuinely have nothing better to do than fuck with you.

I know where the cops hang out on the Taconic, so I always abide by the speed limit when I'm in their hunting grounds. They're too lazy and unimaginative to occupy new stations, so everybody speeds like hell except where the cops usually lurk. The junction with I-84 is a favorite cop hangout so slow down as you approach it.