Michael D. Davis.

I don’t remember the first time I rode a lawn mower. I don’t remember the first time I drove a tractor. I don’t remember the first time I drove a car. I’m sure I was too young for all three. But I do remember the first time I got pulled over because it happened last week.

As a fat man who keeps strange hours and whose regular bedtime ends in the AM, I sometimes get hungry at night. And my favorite impromptu bite to eat at any hour of the night is chicken from Kwik Star.

So, last week, a hair before the witching hour, I headed out to grab some chicken. My Ma, who was still awake at this hour and requesting an egg salad sandwich and a pretzel, calls this occasional hungry moonlit jaunt the chicken run. I’m heading down the street and not a soul is about. I stop at the 63 intersection and look out at the usually busy highway laid barren. At Kwik Star, I grab my stuff, no pretzel, and check out.

Back in the car, I go to the end of the drive, I look left and it’s a ghost town, I look right, and see a jeep coming out of the darkness. The jeep pulls into Kwik Star as I pull out, and I start to retrace my steps homeward. I don’t get far. When I noticed the flashing lights behind me, I thought there must be an emergency somewhere, I should get out of the way. I pulled over, and so did the flashing lights.

All of the thousands of cop shows, crime shows, mysteries, documentaries, and movies left my head as nervousness took over, and I suddenly didn’t know what to do. So I didn’t move. Okay, I turned off the radio, but mainly because I didn’t want the officer to know I was listening to “99 Luftballoons.”

The officer came to the window, and I said, “Before you say anything, should I put it in park?” He said, yeah, then asked why my lights weren’t on. I didn’t know they hadn’t been on.

The officer asked for my license, insurance, and registration. I started to get my license out of my pocket, but my vest being that of a clown, I ended up taking several things out of my pocket till I found my wallet with my ID. I handed it over and then I opened the glove box, and papers flooded out. I didn’t know what was what.

As I handed the officer wads of random papers that had been crammed in the glove box I babbled on about it actually being my Ma’s car like I thought this would explain things or shift blame. The officer glanced through the papers found the registration and also found insurance, just not from this year. “That’s 2023,” He said, “2022, 2021, we are going backwards here.”

The officer handed me back the wad of papers and said he’d run my license as I continued to search for the current insurance. I sifted through paper after paper and found nothing that had the current year on it. When he came back he handed me my license and told me I could keep searching for it or just not drive the car again until I get a new copy of the current insurance in the glove box. At this point, I’d found the insurance card for every single year since the beginning of time except for the current one, I even found the insurance cards for a car we haven’t had in five years. So, I agreed to stop my search.

In an ironic twist, the officer then said, “Aren’t you the guy that wrote the article about the traffic stops in last week’s paper?” I should’ve pointed out earlier in this story, I did not recognize this officer, and I know the majority of the local officers.

I told him yes, I wrote that article. To which he replied, that he was the officer I had emailed with about it, and whom I quoted in the paper. He said he thought it was a good read, and we talked for a few minutes.

I asked him if he’d seen my column ‘Magic Mike 6XL’, and he said he had. I said good because I could guarantee that what was happening at that moment was going to be in a column in the paper in the coming weeks.

It is a bit surreal to be pulled over for the first time in a town where you’ve lived your entire life by an officer that you didn’t know, but actually did know, and then to be complimented on your writing by said officer. Nonetheless, it was nice.

So after our little chat, and goodbyes were being said, and when I was getting ready to start homeward again, he said, “Your lights still aren’t on, by the way.” Somehow I’d still forgotten to turn on my lights. Back home, I told Ma what had transpired and she had a hearty laugh at my expense.

A couple of days later we got a new copy of the insurance and put it in the car. That night was my first night driving the car again and I went on another chicken run. As I was leaving, Ma said with a laugh to get her a pretzel and not to get pulled over.

I’m at Kwik Star I get my stuff and I’m starting to leave. And who do I run into at the door, but the officer that pulled me over. We talked for a second, I told him we got a new copy of the insurance, and how Ma busted my chops, telling me not to get pulled over again. When I got in the car, I made extra sure I put my lights on.