This is my father-in-law's dog, interesting in that he has a black head that makes him appear somewhat demonic, though he's sweet as sugar and wouldn't hurt a fly.
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The third time I ended up in a police car was much later in life, when I in fact was working very closely with the police in securing funds from the State for their departments. Thus, in the course of my work there were many opportunities to ride in police cars, both marked and unmarked. One of the most memorable times was when the chief of a smaller department in Montgomery County gave me a tour of his jurisdiction and environs in an unmarked admin car. He took me way deep into the woods, where a smattering of mobile trailers sprang into view. They were haphazardly arranged in the space of a few acres, and the squalid environment created by their inhabitants was surprising. There were no steps leading up to the doors, so there was a four-foot drop for anyone exiting and a four-foot climb for anyone entering, even small children, of which there were plenty. There was no infrastructure, so no plumbing...where they got their water to bathe and cook I have no idea. The chief explained that these illegals were squatting on federal lands, almost impossible to ferret out without considerable assistance from the State (the reason he was showing me) or the Feds. He didn't say it in so many words, but these encampments were certainly the evidence of Mexican cartels embedding within our borders. To this day I shudder to think of the potential ramifications.
But those types of ride-alongs aren't the experience I'm referring to as "In a Police Car #3". This was in a much friendlier environment, albeit an irritating one. You see, as my career grew I learned a few things working with Law Enforcement folks, particularly cops from the patrol level on up. They are constantly on the prowl for weak links in the Criminal Justice system. This is because one never knows when he or she'll have to depend on you to back them up in dicey situations, which are life and death in many cases. Therefore anyone that works with them - whether it be on the streets or behind a bureaucratic desk (as in my case) can expect to be tested. At times it's in the form of a practical joke, or verbal sparring; the snap you demonstrate when tested thus will determine the level to which you can be trusted. It's just part of the culture. I encountered this often in meetings, when an officer would attempt to put me on the spot in front of a room full of people by asking difficult questions that I knew they knew the answer to already! I generally had a good working relationship with them already, and could detect a subtle smirk or smile as this was going on. Pleased to report that I was usually able to hold my own and pass those (and other) tests with flying colors.
There was one time, however, that I found myself subject to a practical joke that I really could do nothing about. And yes, there was plenty of glee and laughter at my expense.
We were working with one of the larger agencies in the region on a contract to provide Law Enforcement Training. This required regular site visits, so a couple of us on the team went to go check them out. When it came time to eat lunch we decided where to go, and took a patrol car to the restaurant. Getting into the car, I drew the straw to sit in the back seat. Off we go to the restaurant, talking shop along the way.
After arriving, my colleagues got out and simply walked their merry way into the restaurant. Trouble was, I COULD NOT GET OUT OF THE CAR! Police cars are designed so that it's impossible to exit the back seat so that prisoners can't get loose and bolt. And there I was, a prisoner in this back seat, watching forlornly as these creeps disappeared into the restaurant. Of course this was all done on purpose, and I didn't panic or anything, but could only wait - and bake, because it was summer - until I was rescued. Meanwhile, other patrons of the restaurant gave me nervous glances as they walked by. What's this guy in a suit doing sitting in the back of a police car?
Finally, after what seemed like a long time but was probably only about 30 seconds or so, one of my examiners popped out of the restaurant and let me out, providing fodder for stories at the office for a long time to come...
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