I had the most bizarre thing happen to me a couple of years ago.
I was driving down Sunset Blvd in San Francisco with a couple of girls in the car one afternoon, with a brakelight out. Piercing through whatever goddamn tune was playing came the quick stuttered siren of a cop car, instantly killing whatever buzz these broads had me on. Pull over to the side of the road, they said. And I did.
The cop came out, took a look in my car--not at me, of course--and asked me if I knew why he pulled me over. The brakelight? Bingo. "But it's a shame one of these girls wasn't driving, cause, you know, we can't give a ticket to a cute girl." I knew that. But I wondered why he felt the urge to tell me.
"You know, we usually don't like pulling people over for things like this, cause we know it's you guys that pay our salary."
I was in the twilight zone. These cops were speaking aloud every thought that Joe T. Outlaw had ever thought in their own brain about those fucking daytime beat cops. All I could do was smile, nod, and shoot some sort of awkward breeze with my possible day-ruining municipal budget check writers.
"Oh, it looks like he's writing a ticket back there." There goes my idealistic dream of being pulled over by heartened bullshitter police swagglers. I sat there, and turning the stereo on to minimum volume. The girls giggled uncomfortably for my liking, but that was all, though that ain't much. Then Cop Swagger came back and told us we were free to go.
It was the most surreal cop experience of my life. Maybe it was the girls? Maybe they didn't want to deal with it? Either way, I found out that the police know exactly what they're doing. If they're not fucking you, they're fucking with you.
So fuck em.