Confessions of a Scofflaw
Many of us have been in situations where you just “had to go”, and especially during our local St. Patrick’s Day parade, dozens of tickets are handed out for public urination.
However, today we have a fun two-part story from a Hoboken resident (and Hoboken411 reader) who was in a similar situation recently in New York City, and openly shares his story about his offense, and what happened afterward.
Confessions of a Scofflaw
Or “Why they hate Jersey in NYC”
As soon as I heard that dreaded “whoop”, I knew I was busted. Looking up, my fears were confirmed. Not twenty feet away sat a white NYPD van with two officers staring at me, one with a microphone in hand.
“Get over here!” he barked over the loudspeaker into the dark Greenwich Village night.
Not 15 minutes before, I had left a bar on the Lower East Side and walked due west to the Christopher Street PATH station. As always, I forgot to hit the men’s room before leaving the bar.
As I got to the station, I realized that it might be a full half-hour before the next train came. Then another 15 minutes before I got to my apartment on Washington Street. There was no way I could wait 45 minutes!
“I tried,” I thought to myself. “I really tried to find a nice quiet spot to relieve my beer-besieged bladder before descending into the station for the PATH ride home.”
What I failed to notice, however, was that my chosen spot was directly adjacent to a NYPD precinct house. D’oh!
Zipping up as quickly as I could, I sheepishly approached the van.
“Good evening, officers! Staying safe tonight?”
“Let’s see some ID.” Apparently my friendly, clean-cut all-American presence was not going to win them over.
Continue reading the rest of this story after the jump!
My interrogators were an interesting mix which reflected the new faces of the NYPD: a middle-aged African-American man and an young and pretty (but more on that later) Latina woman.
As soon as he whipped out his pen and paper, I knew I was to be the recipient of the notorious “C Summons”, a prime feature of the Giuliani-inspired “quality of life” enforcement campaign. Immediately, I joined the ranks of jaywalkers, litterers, consumers of alcohol in public, and fellow urinators who would need to navigate the lowest rung of the New York City court system.
“Ever been arrested before?” asked the older cop.
“No, sir.” I replied, secretly hoping that my nose was not growing and that the computer in the van was not linked to the legendary Permanent Record that we were always threatened with back in junior high. “Nope. Not me.”
As Serious Cop wrote out my summons, the inevitable happened. That little voice from deep in my beer-sodden brain began to whisper. “Flirt with the hot female cop. Flirt with her! Do it now!”
I obeyed the voice.
Knowing I couldn’t actually say anything with Serious Cop there, I caught her eye and gave her a smile which, at the time, I thought conveyed my self-assured nonchalance at being caught in such a silly situation, and implying that if we had met in different circumstances we would be making out within minutes.
For reasons that we’ll never know, this caused her to begin to giggle uncontrollably. I like to think that she succumbed to my charms, but in retrospect it was probably because a booze-fueled frat boy who she had just seen whizzing in an alley was clownishly trying to impress her.
As I took the little pink piece of paper which instructed me to appear at Manhattan Criminal Court, both of the officers spoke to me very slowly and directly: “Do NOT blow off the court date. You MUST show up in person.”
“No problem!” I replied, while crumpling the summons into a small paper ball of sheer nervousness. Both officers rolled their eyes in unison.
“Have a good night and be safe.” I told them as I walked away toward the PATH, as if being especially courteous AFTER receiving the summons would somehow lead them to call me back, befriend me, tear up the pink paper, and say, “Awww, you’re not such a bad guy after all!” Nope. Just an icy stare from Serious Cop and more giggling from the young hottie.
The PATH platform was surprisingly deserted, considering that it was 4 am on a Saturday, but I quickly spied two people who I could befriend.
“You wouldn’t believe what just happened to me!” I said as I sat down next to them. I soon learned that they were Jeannine and Jennifer, and both were hairdressers from Harrison.
As soon as they found that I lived in Hoboken, they became extremely interested in what I did for a living. Sensing that I was in the presence of two gold-diggers, I said with a straight face, “Pest control. You know…extermination. Rodents. Bugs. Sometimes even larger animals like chickens and waterfowl.” As if on cue, a train pulled into the station and they scurried away to a far-off car.
As I sat down on the hard orange train seat, I began to contemplate what had happened. I thought about the law, justice, and public standards of decency. But then my mind turned to more important things. “That hot Latina cop…” I thought. “I wonder if she’ll be at my court date?”
Coming soon… Part II: The Court Date.