Friday, March 16, 2007

The one about the cops-Ride the PIG!

God, forgive me. I HATE the fuckin’ cops. Sure lots of people do, some of them because they’re actually criminals who have something to hide, you know, people who victimize others, people who hurt, or steal, or whatever. That’s not me. I mind my business. Heck, I hardly ever even leave my home! And yet, “on or about” December 11 2006, I was sitting in my crappy trailer with my neighbor (name withheld), talking about her relationship problems with her somewhat of an asshole boyfriend. Out of nowhere, there was a voice from outside. “Hello!! Sheriff’s Department!!” So I went to my door to see what was up.
I stepped outside (my first mistake) and met up with two Riverside County Deputies and two other people in civilian clothes. I extended my hand to shake the hand of one of the officers (second mistake) as I said, “What can I do for you?” He immediately grabbed my hand, spun me around, and proceeded to frisk me. There was nothing in my pockets except my Zippo lighter. Then began the questions, some of them quite inappropriate. Things like, “Are there any drugs in the house?” I told them I had prescription pain meds in my house. “What do you take those for?” they asked. “That’s none of your business- That’s my personal medical information” They continued to grill me as to the nature of my condition, so finally, annoyed, I relented, and said, “Arthritis- Is THAT satisfactory?” They then asked if there was anyone else in the house. I told them my neighbor was inside. They asked her name a proceeded to call her out of the house, and began to question her as well. One thing they asked was her age (she is twenty). “Oh, c’mon, you aren’t twenty. How old are you really?” Apparently, they were convinced that I had an under-aged girl in my house, which in and of itself is not a crime, so they must have believed there was something sexual going on and that they had a pedophile on their hands (the sick fucks!).
At some point I asked them why they were even there. “We’re here assisting the county inspectors.” Those are the people who make sure all the brush has been properly cleared on the property and other such things. Now, county inspectors have nothing to do with anything that’s going on inside my house. In fact the inspectors come out every year, without any police escort- and there has NEVER been any sort of incident that would warrant them needing a law enforcement escort. Essentially they used the occasion to conduct a random interragation.
“Do you mind if we have a look inside the house?”
“Yes I mind. Get a warrant.” I said.
“Listen- If we have to come back with a warrant we’ll wait until your wife is here, and we’ll tear your shit up.” Then one of them added, “Well, you know, you’re technically under arrest, so we are allowed to search your house.”
“What does that mean? Technically??? Are you going to read me my rights?” It seems they knew they were full of shit, so they kept asking me to let them search the premises, and I kept telling them to “GET A WARRANT.”
“If you’ve got nothing to hide, you shouldn’t have a problem with us looking around. You sure there’s no drugs in there?” At this point it had been about thirty minutes since this whole thing started, and they had me sitting on a plastic milk crate. I hadn’t taken my pain medication yet that morning/afternoon, so I was getting pretty uncomfortable. I guess that’s why, in hopes of ending this unpleasantness I said, “Look, I’ve got about a gram a marijuana in there.”
“You mid getting it for us?”
“Yes, I do mind.” They were baffled.
“Why not?”
“Because, it’s mine.” I need it. The pills make me nauseous.
Now they were REALLY baffled. They knew I had narcotics inside, yet they had no warrant- No permission to go get it- and I was not about to give it up. Once again I told them to get a warrant.
They kept pressuring me to get the offending plant matter for them for about another ten minutes, all the while still detaining my neighbor too. I was getting really uncomfortable for lack of medication, and I felt bad that my friend had been dragged into this crap along with me, so I finally said (my third mistake, at least) that if it would end this, I’d get the marijuana for them.
They allowed me to go in, alone, and I very quickly re-emerged with the devil weed (all the while praising Satan under my breath).
Now this part bothers me the most. Even after I gave it up, they still insisted on searching my home.
“How about you let just one of us go in there with you and look around? ”You can pick either one of us.”
“Okay, ONE of you. You. (I picked the one I hated the least)Just so you can see that there’s no meth labs or dead hookers or whatever it is you think you’re gonna find- but I don’t want you going through my drawers and shit- just look. I don’t need you going through the tattered remains of my life.” Mostly, the place was a mess, and I hadn’t counted on guests.
“Well, he’s the lead officer on this so, he should go.” So much for me picking the one I wanted.
“Whatever. Fine.”
So one of the fucks went into the house with me and had a cursory look around. There was nothing to see so we went back outside.
Then they asked me about an old refridgerator, about fifty yards from my place. It wasn’t mine, nor had it ever been, I am not the landlord, or the property manager. In short- not my problem.
“Well, you’re going to be getting a ticket for that.” Whatever. “By the way, do you have a medical marijuana card?” I told them no. “Well it wouldn’t matter anyway.” later found out that it actually would matter. I happen to be in one of the few counties, in one of the few states, where having such a card does matter. Liars
They wrote me up a ticket, though I didn’t know if it was for the refrigerator or the weed. Turns out, the weed, which, all said and done, is only a ticket.
Jumping ahead to my court date, I plead not guilty, and applied for a public defender. This meant I had to come back again to be assigned an attorney. Oh what fun. My defender seems to agree with me that this was an illegal seizure, or something along those lines, and plans to file a “motion to suppress.” If I can get my neighbor to testify as to the fact that I repeatedly asked them to get a warrant, and that they said I was, “technically under arrest”, should make my case a slam-dunk. Unfortunately, my neighbor has moved to San Diego, ironically because the Sheriffs Dept. was in their home, poking around, without a warrant no less. This caused them to pack up and move out that very evening. Fortunately I have stayed in touch with her and she should be able to help me, as long as she can get up here, and my Public Defender says they can possibly arrange transportation. How cool would that be?


“BANG!!!” That’s how these pricks knock on my door. Yeah, they’re back. They’re actually back!! I had been awake for almost three days, re-aquainting myself with my new computer, tracking some bids on ebay, etc, and I had just barely fallen asleep when the knock- no, BANG, came at my flimsy trailer door. Damned if it wasn’t the same fucking fucks. (Fuck!) This time however, there was no stepping outside, no friendly handshake, no mistakes.
“You mind stepping out here?” They didn’t even know my damned name!
“Absolutely not!”
”Do you mind if we come in?”
“Hell yes I mind!! Get a warrant. What do you want?”
“We’re here with the inspectors again.” And yet, I saw no inspectors.
“Well, where are they?”
They motioned up the road, “Up there by that white SUV.” I saw the SUV, but not the inspectors.
“Well then you’re not really with them then are you?”
“We need to speak to you as a representative of the property.”
They were trying to trick me outside again. “I’m not a representative of shit! LEAVE ME ALONE!”
“Do you have any warrants for you arrest? Are you on probation? Parole? Are there any drugs in the house? Blah blah blah…?”
“No. No. No. No. Now fuck off!!” (Oh yes I did.)
“Well we’re going to go check on all that.”
“You have fun. Bye “ And that’s how that ended. They did not come back. I’m more concerned with why they were there at all. I have a pending court case against these very fucks, so as far as I’m concerned this was harassment and/or intimidation of the police variety. Oh, and they asked me my name, meaning even after citing me three months earlier they still didn’t know whose door they were banging on.
In case it was lost in the story, these guys had no reason to knock on my door three months ago, there had been no complaint made, I hadn’t even been smoking that morning, so it wasn’t like they smelled it either, so the only reason I can figure they knocked that day is because they didn’t know I was fighting the ticket they’d given me, and thought I’d be on probation for the possession charge, in which case they pretty much don’t need a warrant any more. (Most people I saw in court with the same charge were making guilty pleas.)
It’s just plain bullshit. You can’t just go door to door fishing for crimes. You can’t just detain someone for upwards of hour without any evidence of a crime having been committed. You the reader may not care for pot, or for the people who use it but someone has to stand up against these pigs that think they don’t have to play by the rules,(their rules) particularly when they think most people don’t know what their rights are. Don’t be mislead, I’m doing this, for me, not for the rest of you. I don’t want a fucking possession charge on my record, for what I do in my own home. I overcame all the hard drugs, the bad drugs. To go down now, over two joints, would just be a shame.–V.D.