Missed Court

Missed court

My gut churned as the female police officer made her way out of the store toward her police vehicle. My throat was dry - I was more nervous than I’d ever been.

“Excuse me, Officer?” I managed with my suddenly-parched vocal cords.

She turned and smiled at me, very friendly and inviting. She was quite pretty, her police car was also visible in the background.

“What can I do for you sir?” She asked.

I was trembling. I was probably blushing with my nerves. “I need to ask a favor, Ma’am.”

“I’ll help if I can,” she told me.

“I was supposed to be in court yesterday for a traffic ticket and totally forgot about it,” I explained, still shaking. “Could you check to see if there is a warrant for me?”

“I can certainly help with that,” she said, still very friendly. “Please give me your identification.”

I handed her my driver’s license with trembling hands. She tucked it in her pocket and moved behind me.

“I need you to put your hands behind your back for me, sir,” she told me. “You’re awfully nervous and if there is a warrant, I don’t want you running. So I need to handcuff you and place you in my car while I run the warrant check.”

I suddenly wanted to run - what kind of mistake was I making here? - but I obeyed, and she handcuffed me, tightly, the clicks driving home that it was too late to turn back now.

She walked me to her car and placed me in the back seat. She didn’t close the door as she got out my driver’s license and raised her radio to her lips.

“Wait,” I said. “I don’t want you to check, Officer.”

“It’s too late for that, sir,” she said, still friendly. “You’ve done the right thing by checking for a warrant. I’m proud of you.”

She radioed my name and date of birth. I heard a female voice respond on the radio.

“Subject is wanted on a warrant for failure to appear.”

The female officer nodded. “10-4. Show me with one male in custody, en route to the jail.”

My heart sank. I wanted to cry. A crowd was gathering outside the store - witnesses to my humiliation.

“Step out for me, sir,” she said. I obeyed, and she placed me against the car. “Legs apart.”

I again obeyed. She searched me, a slow, methodical and comprehensive exploration of my clothing with her hands that was deeply humiliating. She then put me back in the car and belted me in place.

“It’s not the end of the world,” she told me. “I can see you’re regretting approaching me. But taking care of your warrant is the right thing to do. I know you don’t want to go to jail, but tomorrow a judge will see you and you can hopefully get this cleared up.”

She paused. “At this time it is my duty to inform you that you are now officially under arrest. I am taking you to jail. Do you have any questions?”

“No, Officer.”

She closed the door, and I watched her, miserable in the rear seat of her vehicle, walk around and get in the driver’s door. I was so ashamed, embarrassed, and humiliated, but it was too late for me now, I had turned myself in and been arrested by her, and was now her prisoner.