I have nothing against cops. Cops are essential to any lawful society. Someone breaks into your house, who do you call? The cops. Those damn teenagers next door just will not turn that “music” down, who has to drive all the way out to your neighborhood and knock on the door? Fuckin’ cops. You walk out to get the newspaper and find your cat’s head in the mailbox, who do you call when you want justice and perhaps comforting sex? You call the fucking cops. Their job is to come running (though sometimes it does seem like more of a relaxed amble) when you holler for help. Not only that – their job is dangerous. When was the last time someone shot at you while you were at work? Porn stars, wipe those smirks off your faces (and whatever else that is).
Having said that, I have to wonder if maybe we could give these guys something more useful to do. I went fishing with my best friend a few weeks ago, around 10 or 11 P.M. On our way to the river, coming into Williamsport, we passed a police sobriety checkpoint – orange cones, road flares, the whole bit. Nothing to complain about there; I say get those drunks off the streets, baby. A few things bothered me about it, though. For one thing, there were two deputy sheriffs standing out in the street actually stopping people as they drove through, and about ten more cruisers parked in front of a strip mall across the road, the cops all just standing around shooting the shit. Is this kind of manpower really necessary to check for drunk drivers in a town of less than 2,000 people, on a Thursday night in the middle of June?
For another thing, they located their checkpoint less than a mile down the road from a bar. At first this would seem to be the perfect spot – pull those tipsy fuckers over before they have a chance to kill anyone on their way home. The location becomes less ideal when you factor in that the road runs both ways, and they were only stopping people coming out of town, not going in. So, you’re on your way into town to have a few drinks, or maybe to get lit the fuck up, and you notice the cops stopping cars coming the opposite way. Assuming you’re not too drunk to remember, are you going to drive home this way? Hell no. What’s more, the first words out of your mouth when you hit the bar are probably going to be, “Hey, if you’re driving home drunk tonight, don’t take Rt. 68, ‘cause the cops are running a check. Drive home drunk some other way.” How much brains does it take to outwit this? Daffy Duck would be like six steps ahead of this entire operation.
They must not have had a very productive night, because when we drove back through only an hour or so later, they’d packed up and moved out. The bars close at 2 A.M., so that still gave them a few hours to get changed and go get drunked up themselves. Which I’m sure some of them did, and why the hell not? What’s to fear from getting hammered and driving home when you know you’re gonna get away with it?