Naturally the alarm was NOT going off. The officer rolled down his passenger window and I bent down, grabbing a quick breath of composure before I did. I started off euphemistically with “good morning”, even though it was anything but a good morning. The officer just stared at me, as if he had no idea why either one of us was there. Jen and I pointed to the car and explained that the alarm had been going off since 11 O’clock the previous night.
“Do you know who the car belongs to?” he asked.
What kind of idiot did this guy mistake me for? Did he honestly think that if I knew the answer to that question it would have been a “noise complaint” call? If I knew to whom that piece of shit car belonged, Officer Lone Star would have been investigating a homicide. No we don’t know who the damn car belongs to, come on man! He proceeded to give us the speech:
"Well there’s nothing I can do, this is private property. We can’t just tow a car because the alarm is going off, that’s up to the management. It’s not a disturbance, there’s nobody here.”
NOT A DISTURBANCE?! I was looking into the police car, so I can’t be sure, but I think Jen’s eyes popped out of her head when this asshole told her there was no disturbance. I think I was too stunned and/or tired to say the things that were going through my head. I know it wasn’t self-control, because I used that all up yelling at the dispatcher. It’s probably for the best that I just stood there dumbfounded. Jen went on briefly about towing the car, no sleep, alarm all night, etc. Officer Lone Star finally got out of the car. He took out his six-inch flashlight—what kind of self-respecting police officer in Texas carries a six-inch flashlight—and started walking around the car, peering inside.
So far I was completely unsatisfied with the San Antonio Police Department. The dispatchers were condescending and the officer acted like we were crazy. My goal at this point was to stand there for as long as it took to watch the alarm go off in the presence of the officer. The words of the dispatcher were ringing in my head, “he won’t just wait around”—what a bitch. Sure enough, as he shined his light in the windshield…
wooohooo wooohooo wooohooo wooohooo
Wooooooooooooooooooooooooopppp
p - Wooooooooooooooooooooooooopppp p Heeeeeehaaaaaaaaa-
heeeeeeeehaaaaaaaaaa- heeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaaaa Ehhhh- ehhhh- ehhhh- ehhhh- ehhhh- ehhhh- ehhhh
Maybe it was wishful thinking, or my sleep starved brain playing tricks, but I could swear Officer Lone Star jumped just a little bit.
At this point, I was satisfied. I was willing to wait for this asshole to leave and then I’d just break a window, pop the hood, and tear off the battery terminals. It wouldn’t be a crime because, by the time the police showed up again, there wouldn’t be anyone there. I was starting to see how this state works. After jotting down the license plate number, Officer Lone Star said “OK, I’ll see what I can do”.
“Thanks”, I replied, and walked back to the apartment. It was now past five and time for me to get ready for work. What a glorious day. As I showered and dressed, Officer Lone Star paid Jen a visit. He let her know that he ran the plates and they were not registered to any address in the complex…not a big surprise. She told him “we just moved from California, and if this had happened there they would just tow the car.” He replied, I’m told with attitude, “that’s not how we do things here.”
Clearly.
He wrote the case number and the license plate of the vehicle on the back of his “business card” and gave it to Jen. When I finished getting dressed, Jen filled me in on what I missed. She showed me Lone Star’s card. Looking at the card I was surprised he didn’t show up in a taxicab whirling a glow stick out the window. I’ve unfortunately had occasion to make police reports before, and usually an officer’s card features the department’s emblem—sometimes embossed—and the officer’s name and contact information printed on the card. This was a white 3 ½ x 2 inch card with “San Antonio Police Department” in black typeface across the top and an address and phone number that looked like they were typed on a typewriter at the bottom. Lone Star had scribbled his name and the case number in the white space in between. Impressive. Now I know why they have right-to-carry laws here.
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