aaron_the fall of america_chapter_11

Chapter 11

Ordinarily I wouldn't concern myself with such a thing but the thought of authority is terrorising my contemplation. I feel I am in danger of offending them in a large enough way that they will be very upset with me. It's not just the fear of a beating one would expect after telling an officer to fuck a chicken when being caught red-handed daring to be an Auslander. It may very well be more along the lines of unbelievable interrogation for gross misconduct in regard to the use of one of their space vehicles. This particular space vehicle makes the space shuttle look like space junk. The price tag, including the research, would be enough to pay off half the world's national debts and have some left over for a nice lunch. I hope I didn’t break it.

I remember having an hour to kill before getting a hair cut one time. I thought I'd stroll Yonge Street. I rode down the street until I found a 'no parking' sign to lock my bicycle to. I went into a poster store and suddenly realised I didn't want to look at posters. I resumed walking down Yonge Street and realised I didn't want to be on Yonge Street.

I decided to go instead to the reference library. I made this decision as I was crossing a street going south. I then crossed to the west side of the street and had to cross once more to go north to my bicycle. On the third crossing, I stepped off the curb two seconds before the light turned green. There wasn't a car in either direction. I walked to my bicycle to unlock it.

Unknowingly, I was tormenting a bumbling, paranoid, asshole that was on the watch for any signs of insubordination. He intended to put everything in order. I was his subject. He would teach me about respect and obedience. He was a member of the law-enforcing club. He could handle people like me.

He had decided that I had challenged him for he could see no other reason why I would cross the street three times when there was a policeman walking up the same street. One of the crossings was taken outside the white line while the last crossing was taken before the light had turned to the magic colour of green. He was one of those well bred cop creatures fresh out of cadets. He had learned that for the city to be safe, people should not step outside of the white line nor should a pedestrian cross a street before he was given the proper signal. Life would run smoothly if everyone would do exactly as they were told to do. Besides being dangerous, there is no need to calculate your own movements.

Follow all the rules.

There are laws. Those laws are made by the power people to keep the plebeians under control. Safe. Keep them obeying symbols and rules. Don't leave them vulnerable to the dangers of thinking and reasoning. Obedience to the system keeps society at peace and in harmony. Everything will be okay.

The cop queried me by asking if I knew what he meant about how one should cross the street.

"Maybe."

He asked again.

"Kind of."

He asked again.

"Sort of."

I started rapping my chain onto my bicycle and proceeded to wonder what his problem was and what my problem was becoming.

"Yes." I lied. I had to give it to him before he lashed out at me. I didn't quite understand his motives. I was thinking I had encountered a raving lunatic in a policeman's uniform.

"I hope you ride your bike better."

"Yes."

"Where are you from?" He suspected I was an illegal immigrant.

"Nova Scotia, originally."

"Do you live in Toronto now?"

He was forcing himself to keep control. I could see he wanted to destroy me like a little bug he didn't want to have on his patio.

"Yup."

"What's your name?"

"Aaron."

He failed to introduce himself.

"Aaron what?"

I was tempted to use a friend's rebuttal and say 'Aaron Sir', but instead I just closed the lock on my chain and stood up straight to look at him.

"Do you want my last name too?" I inquired with as much innocent sarcasm as possible.

He was pissed off. I liked it. He was showing me how childish and petty he was. Under his uniform he was just a jerk. He was showing his lack of style by becoming angry at my lack of co-operation in regards to his gentle hassling.

I had no intention of letting him know who I was because I suspected that he in no way was considering generosity toward me. I didn't want him or any of his associates visiting me with a summons for the ticket I was sure to receive and sure not to pay. I knew the confrontation had to end with my receiving a ticket. I would force him with my arrogance to punish me. I was betting that he wouldn't arrest me for such a inoffensive offence.

"You're hassling me. Why do you need my name?"

"In case I give you a ticket."

"What for?"

We argued for a while before he told me I was stupid. He told me he would arrest me for failing to identify. It had nothing to do with the law. It was all about insubordination. I was out of place, my place being under his foot.

The law was becoming clear to me. Obey laws even if they are ridiculous laws because we can cause you pain. I wouldn't show him any identification when he asked for it because I didn't have any without my name on it. I told him I had none with me.

"That would be great. I'd have to go through your pockets as you lay there dead and you wouldn't have any ID."

I wasn't certain how I was suddenly dead and couldn't see how identification would improve my condition in such a state.

"Where is your ID?"

"At home."

"What kind of ID do you have?"

"The usual stuff."

He was apparently pursuing a theory that if I wasn't an illegal immigrant than I was certainly a criminal.

He demanded to know what kind of ID I had.

"Birth certificate and the usual stuff."

"Social insurance?"

"Yes."

"Driver's licence?"

"Yes."

He gave me the option of giving my name or being arrested.

"Chase."

He supplied an incorrect spelling to my incorrect name.

"C.H.A.S.E.," I spelled out for him

He called in to run a check on me.

"I've got to go sir. I've got a hair appointment."

He had to give me a ticket first.

With a false name, a false age, and a false address, he filled out my ticket.

He was getting no information back on me from headquarters. He may have suspected I was bullshitting him. He finished writing out the ticket and asked if I wanted the details of the crime on the back of the ticket.

"No."

"You've got to go, right?"

He seemed to want to go as well.

"Fifty three seventy five for crossing the street two seconds ahead of the light?"

He noticed someone on his bicycle watching us and didn't bother with any last authority speeches. He vanished.



read on. book_01 chapter_12



by Joanne B. Washington

© 2001 | the jose wombat project