Wednesday, March 26, 2003
Ever have that feeling that your life is moving from just one moment of misfortune to the next?

I swear, I couldn't make up stuff as insulting as the following story; not even if I tried..

Tonight was supposed to be a chill night. My good friend Chris is back in town for a week from his grad school adventures in La-La Land AKA UCLA, so he wanted to hang out and eat dinner. Since he's only in town for this week, I told him I'd skip kendo practice to meet him. He thought it best to meet on the eastside in Issaquah, since Josh and Val were possibilities to join us later, and it's about half-way between my house and his.

I know he's a sushi fan, so I looked up the addy of a good sushi joint out there. I find the address, notice it's off Gilman, and print off some directions to go there. I was starving, I hadn't eaten all day because of my fasting. I wanted to shoot for meeting at 7:00, but instead, in classic late-Fong style, our meeting is pushed back until 8:00ish - I get a call around 7:45 that he's just on his way with his carpool with his GF, Olivia. I head out; however much to my regret later, I forgot to print a map of the area or bring along Chris' cellphone number.

I end wandering up and down stupid Gilman for about 50 minutes before I realize the directions are absolute crap and the address to the restaurant is somehow wrong. Being hungry doesn't help my mood either.

The time is almost 9ish. Being a cellphone-less person, I decide I should locate a payphone / yellow pages to contact Chris and figure something out. From the corner of my eye, realize a little too late that a squad car has been tailing me closely for about the last quarter mile down an odd road... the minute the thought it would suck to get pulled over right now crosses my mind, I see the red and blue lights flashing.

It's the same squad car I had passed by while circling a parking lot to find my bearings. I had noticed the car was sitting there in the dark, lights off, as if waiting to spring a speed trap. Lucky me. I hadn't been speeding or driving recklessly. The only remotely strange thing I had done was circle the parking lot once.

Being the good citizen I am, I pull over quickly, and shut off my engine. I roll down the window, keep both hands high on the steering wheel, and look straight ahead, while watching the officer exit his squad car and approach me. Big white guy. His right hand is on his holster. He stops a pretty healthy distance from my window, I notice the safety strap is off and see the distinctive squarish, hammer-less slide that denotes a Glock. Piss... I turn on extra respectful, obedient minority Garrett-mode to say a gentle, "Good evening, officer."

Evening. You have a driver's license?

Definitely hostile. I look down to get out my license out of my pocket and pull it out very slowly. The last thing I want is some jacketed hollowpoints put into my head.

The officer asks where I'm headed. OK, maybe this stop will be blessing. I tell him I'm lost and looking for a restaurant where I'm meeting a friend. I figure this might be a divine appointment and I can get some directions to the restaurant. Wrong.

Instead, I get harassed and accused of having alcohol.

So, you're meeting a friend? Riiight. You been drinking tonight? I smell something.

WTH. I haven't had a drop of alcohol in 2 weeks, and I don't regularly consume cough medicine or mouthwash either. I'm certainly not stupid enough to drink & drive or keep an open container in my car. His tone is short and unfriendly. I notice the right hand is still resting on the holster. Uh-oh.

I shake my head and say "No" in the most inoffensive and firm way I can.

You sure? I can smell something. Maybe it's your cologne.

He didn't make much of an effort to hide his sarcasm. Goddamn liar. I don't wear cologne regularly; certainly not to meet CHRIS. I don't have ANY food or drink in my car that he could be mistakenly smelling; I haven't eaten all day! I'm trying to keep my cool; I ain't about to end up Rodney King style over some false DUI accusation.

He reads off my driver's license number and my car plates to the dispatcher to run a background check. He seems to totally not believe I'm actually meeting somebody at a sushi restaurant. In the mean time, I endure another round of interrogation questions, scorn, and general unfriendly-ness until I hear the dispatcher over his radio.

He's completely clean.

Woman's voice. Might as well been an angelic gospel choir... vindication! Officer Bully scowls and shoves my driver's license back at me to take.

You can go. The restaurant is off of Gilman.

My mind screams, "Gee, thanks, mister policeman. You're oh so helpful. I enjoy being pulled over for no reason at all and harassed." The only possible reason I can think of I got pulled over: I circled a parking lot. Ooh yeah, that must make me some sorta thug. My beat-up '90 Nissan Stanza must be oh-so-threatening.

I make haste and bounce; it's about 10pm. Guess I ain't gonna make meeting Chris. I pull into a gas station to replenish wasted gas and make a phonecall at a booth to his house to apologize and say I can't make it. His moms takes a message.

The way my luck is going, I suppose next time I get pulled over I can expect a nice clubbing or sodomizing... another "blessing" for my great life.

Stupid Issaquah five-o bastards... you must feel really big harassing us colored folks visiting your lily valley. I swear I should become a cop just so I can pull over rich white people to falsely accuse them of stupid BS... them or their obnoxious teenbopper spawn. See how they like it. =(


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in?scrip?tion (n-skrip-shun)n.
1. The act or an instance of inscribing.
2. Something, such as the wording on a coin, medal, monument, or seal, that is inscribed.
3. A short, signed message in a book or on a photograph given as a gift.
4. The usually informal dedication of an artistic work.
5. Jeremiah 31:33

the facts.
name. Gar AKA "that Chinese guy" "Sleepy.McSleeping"
ethnicity/nationality. Chinese/American, 4th gen.
location. Sea-Town, WA, USA Kawanishi, JAPAN
occupation. less-cynical poor grad student
age. younger than you think, older than you know



UnseenGC @ AIM
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