Slightly after 10AM.
Cruising, cruising, cruising.
La Roux playing on the stereo.
Virginia State Police playing on the scanner.
Me ingesting the music, dispatches, scenery.
Words “John Franklin Baber of Howardsville.”
Who what?!
Stereo off. Scanner louder.
Swerve into car wash lot, swipe pen from console.
Vehicle details. Scribble, scribble.
Driver’s license number! Scribble, scribble.
Nice.
It is so weird the uncanny ways I keep getting info on this particular Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer.
20100531
Trooper Holiday
Last time I saw Virginia State Trooper Ledbetter was St. Patrick’s Day. Obviously I know who he is, so spotting him this Memorial Day was not excessively wowing. But I did want to find out who his paisano was.
I stroll into Firehouse Subs. Had I been thoughtful rather than spontaneous, I would’ve brought cash in with me. You know, to buy something. The only excuse I’ve left myself for being in there? The restroom. Drats.
I walk the full length of the restaurant. Ledbetter’s buddy is at the fountain drinks. With his back towards me. I can’t exactly spin him around, can I? Drats.
I go through the door marked “Firewomen.” Count in my head what would be an appropriate amount of time to be in there if I were using it as it’s intended. I exit. Only to realize the unidentified Trooper is visiting the men’s toilet. Drats.
By-a-table Ledbetter does a conspicuous double-take of me. Probably because my hair is electric purple. I smile and vacate the eatery empty-nameded. Drats.
Uhm, when’s the next holiday?
I stroll into Firehouse Subs. Had I been thoughtful rather than spontaneous, I would’ve brought cash in with me. You know, to buy something. The only excuse I’ve left myself for being in there? The restroom. Drats.
I walk the full length of the restaurant. Ledbetter’s buddy is at the fountain drinks. With his back towards me. I can’t exactly spin him around, can I? Drats.
I go through the door marked “Firewomen.” Count in my head what would be an appropriate amount of time to be in there if I were using it as it’s intended. I exit. Only to realize the unidentified Trooper is visiting the men’s toilet. Drats.
By-a-table Ledbetter does a conspicuous double-take of me. Probably because my hair is electric purple. I smile and vacate the eatery empty-nameded. Drats.
Uhm, when’s the next holiday?
Dirty Dirty Trooper
OH MY GOSH -- I just got my first ticket for taking a picture of a Virginia State Policeman! Okay, technically the citation states “improper stopping on highway” but that’s not what the irrationally incensed Trooper B.P. Long was shouting at me.
The court date on the summons is July 14, 2010, 9:00AM. Fer sure I will be retaining a lawyer this time ‘round, which means the entire hilarious story that I am dying -- absolutely dying -- to share with y’all will have to wait. ‘Til then, here are some legally acquired photographs of Brandon Long and Michael Bailey, the two confrontational tuff guys themselves:
The court date on the summons is July 14, 2010, 9:00AM. Fer sure I will be retaining a lawyer this time ‘round, which means the entire hilarious story that I am dying -- absolutely dying -- to share with y’all will have to wait. ‘Til then, here are some legally acquired photographs of Brandon Long and Michael Bailey, the two confrontational tuff guys themselves:
20100527
But I Digress
Appears Albemarle County Officer Eric Kudro has landed Andrew Sneathern as an attorney to defend the reckless driving charge he’s facing. Mr. Kudro’s 05/28/2010 court date has been continued to 07/19/2010 at 10:00AM.
For four months I’ve tried to snap a picture of a certain policeman. I’ve been to courthouses on days he’s scheduled. I’ve been to calls he’s dispatched to. I’ve canvassed his patrol zone. I’ve had his cruiser under surveillance. Four months! No picture. It’s not even about the officer anymore; I swore Fate will not win this one. Out of nowhere, the man writes me -- a nothing-ish, but nice, letter. Now what’s running through my head is that he doesn’t know any of this stuff and, if he catches me at this point, he’s going to think I’ve targeted him because he contacted me. How rotten will that be? I gotta hand it to Fate, she’s a very good opponent. I’m still gonna beat her.
Must. Find. Fresh. VSP. Territory. I’m starting to see the same Troopers over and over and over again.
I’ve been toying with previous entries, as I’ve been known to do on occasion. Replacing or adding links, trading out images, updating information, that sort of thing. I’m curious how much of the site JADE’s rabid watchdogs will re-read before they realize none of these changes have to do with the actual Task Force.
Charlottesville’s Top Cop T. J. Longo recently tossed a humorous one-liner at me as I walked by him. Have you ever had another person say something to you that you find extremely funny and then later you’ll be out in a public place by yourself and you think of it and it makes you laugh out loud and everyone looks at you as if you’re a lunatic and that just makes you giggle harder? Thanks for causing that to happen to me, you darling witty Police Chief.
A new correspondent prompted me to wonder: Does my post from yesterday, in fact, imply retribution? Hope not, given that I was expressing ennui. I understand that some folks -- cough cough cops cough cough -- view I HeArTE JADE as vindictive, but, come on y’all, if I were going for revenge, blogging -- goofy stories, at that -- is hardly a suitable method.
____________ ♥ ____________
For four months I’ve tried to snap a picture of a certain policeman. I’ve been to courthouses on days he’s scheduled. I’ve been to calls he’s dispatched to. I’ve canvassed his patrol zone. I’ve had his cruiser under surveillance. Four months! No picture. It’s not even about the officer anymore; I swore Fate will not win this one. Out of nowhere, the man writes me -- a nothing-ish, but nice, letter. Now what’s running through my head is that he doesn’t know any of this stuff and, if he catches me at this point, he’s going to think I’ve targeted him because he contacted me. How rotten will that be? I gotta hand it to Fate, she’s a very good opponent. I’m still gonna beat her.
____________ ♥ ____________
Must. Find. Fresh. VSP. Territory. I’m starting to see the same Troopers over and over and over again.
____________ ♥ ____________
I’ve been toying with previous entries, as I’ve been known to do on occasion. Replacing or adding links, trading out images, updating information, that sort of thing. I’m curious how much of the site JADE’s rabid watchdogs will re-read before they realize none of these changes have to do with the actual Task Force.
____________ ♥ ____________
Charlottesville’s Top Cop T. J. Longo recently tossed a humorous one-liner at me as I walked by him. Have you ever had another person say something to you that you find extremely funny and then later you’ll be out in a public place by yourself and you think of it and it makes you laugh out loud and everyone looks at you as if you’re a lunatic and that just makes you giggle harder? Thanks for causing that to happen to me, you darling witty Police Chief.
____________ ♥ ____________
A new correspondent prompted me to wonder: Does my post from yesterday, in fact, imply retribution? Hope not, given that I was expressing ennui. I understand that some folks -- cough cough cops cough cough -- view I HeArTE JADE as vindictive, but, come on y’all, if I were going for revenge, blogging -- goofy stories, at that -- is hardly a suitable method.
20100526
Smart People Don’t Get Bored
I’m revisiting old files of Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement. Thought maybe I’d spot whatever and be inspired to, honestly, I don’t know what.
I need a clever challenge, an innovative plan, a tactical strategy, something indisputably exciting that’s mentally and physically demanding. Task. Force. Tied. I’m learning stock officers, with few exceptions, without deliberate provocation are mega-not stimulating enough; those who surely are intriguing, perhaps it’s merely the infrequency of interaction that’s making them, too, seem unsatisfactory to me.
Befriending JADE targets and victims -- yes, there is a difference -- is a separate game -- brought on by confining me to an environment where I would encounter such -- and an unbloggable one at that.
Where does this leave me? Eyeballing 2008-110 and 2008-113. What are they? June 3rd and 4th onset cases worked by Detective Granville Fields, who is infinitely more attractive than the men those investigations are titled:
Maybe I should just start a band. Any of my readers play guitar?
I need a clever challenge, an innovative plan, a tactical strategy, something indisputably exciting that’s mentally and physically demanding. Task. Force. Tied. I’m learning stock officers, with few exceptions, without deliberate provocation are mega-not stimulating enough; those who surely are intriguing, perhaps it’s merely the infrequency of interaction that’s making them, too, seem unsatisfactory to me.
Befriending JADE targets and victims -- yes, there is a difference -- is a separate game -- brought on by confining me to an environment where I would encounter such -- and an unbloggable one at that.
Where does this leave me? Eyeballing 2008-110 and 2008-113. What are they? June 3rd and 4th onset cases worked by Detective Granville Fields, who is infinitely more attractive than the men those investigations are titled:
Maybe I should just start a band. Any of my readers play guitar?
20100524
Even When I’m Not Seeking, I Find
Noticed this vanity plate while Sunday driving:
That shiny silver Charger in front of VSP ONE and me sped past us a split-second before; the man behind its wheel is a local detective.
That shiny silver Charger in front of VSP ONE and me sped past us a split-second before; the man behind its wheel is a local detective.
20100523
I’m Gonna Have To Stop Typing About The Guy ‘Cause I’m Running Out Of Ideas For Post Titles On Him
I’m getting comments about Eric Kudro.
One reader emailed (links added by me for context):
The ticketing officer will win for appearing to not let the badge of his fellow lawman influence his decision of who was at fault, Officer Kudro will win because he’ll get away with the offense, and the judge will win because neither officer will be upset or occupationally harmed by his ruling.
I doubt the media will do a follow-up on this reckless driving charge, and I like to see things through, so I’m tempted to go to court and observe.
Another reader -- and, presumably, an actual acquaintance of Mr. Kudro -- extolled the virtues and brought up a few personal struggles of the Albemarle County policeman. I won’t quote what the correspondent wrote because it’d be dirty to publicly dish it. The gist is that Mr. Kudro is a fine, fine, man and I ought not pick on him because, aw, woe, hasn’t he suffered enough?
It does my ego good that someone feels my opinion of Eric Kudro matters to Eric Kudro, but let’s be for real here; I have no effect on his life whatsoever. I also tend to think Mr. Kudro, if he’s even paying I HeArTE JADE any attention, can probably handle my ribbing him. If he can’t, well, he has no effect on my life whatsoever. Of course I state that with fingers crossed that I never find my body in range of his Taser or my car parked on any route he drives his vehicle.
One reader emailed (links added by me for context):
Kudro's a mess! I read the post where he took some popo driving course, so that makes him doubly ridiculous hahahaa. Can't wait to find out if he was texting, reaching for a waffle he dropped or just what. I wonder if he's going to be applying for unemployment soon or if the car wreck was just karma.I predict -- based on the, granted limited, information I have -- that Officer Kudro, with the assistance of an attorney, will dispute the citation in court. The judge, who normally would always side with the ticketing officer, won’t want to leave a permanent black mark on the record of a member of Law Enforcement, therefore he’ll find in favor of Officer Kudro.
The ticketing officer will win for appearing to not let the badge of his fellow lawman influence his decision of who was at fault, Officer Kudro will win because he’ll get away with the offense, and the judge will win because neither officer will be upset or occupationally harmed by his ruling.
I doubt the media will do a follow-up on this reckless driving charge, and I like to see things through, so I’m tempted to go to court and observe.
Another reader -- and, presumably, an actual acquaintance of Mr. Kudro -- extolled the virtues and brought up a few personal struggles of the Albemarle County policeman. I won’t quote what the correspondent wrote because it’d be dirty to publicly dish it. The gist is that Mr. Kudro is a fine, fine, man and I ought not pick on him because, aw, woe, hasn’t he suffered enough?
It does my ego good that someone feels my opinion of Eric Kudro matters to Eric Kudro, but let’s be for real here; I have no effect on his life whatsoever. I also tend to think Mr. Kudro, if he’s even paying I HeArTE JADE any attention, can probably handle my ribbing him. If he can’t, well, he has no effect on my life whatsoever. Of course I state that with fingers crossed that I never find my body in range of his Taser or my car parked on any route he drives his vehicle.
Celebrity Dead Girls And The Rot That Follow Them
“Blink” and her followers at the blinkoncrime.com website have apparently decided the latest target for their vitriol and inane comments *is me. Aw, gee, aren’t I lucky?
It still strikes me that these people sit on their Morgan Harrington forums of choice expressing shock and horror at the cruelness of people in the world they live in yet they don’t even blink at being cruel themselves. It’s amazing. And sad. Extremely sad.
Unlike they did with me -- most who’ve followed the Blink On Crime link spent less than two minutes on I HeArTE JADE -- I thought I’d learn a bit about them before I started tapping away at my keyboard.
Let’s see, pop-overs strictly courtesy of “Blink” included Miss Wilma who resides in Lawrence, Kansas, and the woman in Texas who has not only an affinity for the deceased Morgan Harrington but also Angie Samota, and the guy in the same State who’s connected to the Bureau of Economic Geology… “Blink” sure has a wide variety of readers. Recognize yourself? That’s right, BOC muffins: you may be anonymous over there but over here you are not. Once ya clicked, I got ya. And I bet y’all trusted “Blink” to protect your privacy.
Truth be told, I don’t particularly give a dern that she and they would choose to be outright thoughtless or mean to me, a stranger -- yeah, I totally believe every one of them would’ve helped a drunk, hitchhiking, Metallica-loving Morgan Harrington if they’d seen her that night. What I do mind is that my visitor hits are being skewed by their invasion.
Hmm… you think I can get a list of all her supporters before she removes all the links from her site to mine?
*Original offensive post by “Ragdoll” edited since this publication.
It still strikes me that these people sit on their Morgan Harrington forums of choice expressing shock and horror at the cruelness of people in the world they live in yet they don’t even blink at being cruel themselves. It’s amazing. And sad. Extremely sad.
Unlike they did with me -- most who’ve followed the Blink On Crime link spent less than two minutes on I HeArTE JADE -- I thought I’d learn a bit about them before I started tapping away at my keyboard.
Let’s see, pop-overs strictly courtesy of “Blink” included Miss Wilma who resides in Lawrence, Kansas, and the woman in Texas who has not only an affinity for the deceased Morgan Harrington but also Angie Samota, and the guy in the same State who’s connected to the Bureau of Economic Geology… “Blink” sure has a wide variety of readers. Recognize yourself? That’s right, BOC muffins: you may be anonymous over there but over here you are not. Once ya clicked, I got ya. And I bet y’all trusted “Blink” to protect your privacy.
Truth be told, I don’t particularly give a dern that she and they would choose to be outright thoughtless or mean to me, a stranger -- yeah, I totally believe every one of them would’ve helped a drunk, hitchhiking, Metallica-loving Morgan Harrington if they’d seen her that night. What I do mind is that my visitor hits are being skewed by their invasion.
Hmm… you think I can get a list of all her supporters before she removes all the links from her site to mine?
*Original offensive post by “Ragdoll” edited since this publication.
20100520
OMG -- Assign Him To JADE Already!
Cruiser crash leads to investigation(Source)WAYNESBORO — A Sunday traffic crash prompted the Albemarle County Police Department to launch an internal investigation into an officer who wrecked his cruiser, police said.
Waynesboro police Sgt. Kelly Walker said Albemarle police Officer Eric Michael Kudro, 29, of Waynesboro, was driving on the 400 block of North Delphine Avenue when he veered right and sideswiped a 1996 Ford Ranger.
Kudro pulled his 2009 Ford Crown Victoria about 300 feet away and took in the damage, police said: an estimated $5,000 to the cruiser and $8,000 to the pickup truck.
Police charged Kudro with failure to maintain proper control. He was headed home when the crash occurred.
Albemarle police spokesman Shawn Schwertfeger said Monday that the office investigates every traffic crash that involves a department officer.
No one was injured in the crash.
Terrible-Pics Thursday
Generally for an I HeArTE JADE entry of this style, I just publish whatever images with little to no explanation. Which probably does nothing to convince anyone I’m not crazy. This time I’m adding bits of elucidative commentary. Which probably does nothing to convince anyone I’m not crazy. So, fine.
I used to look at people’s poor quality photographs and wonder why they’d share such bad pictures. I’ve since realized that even the worst snapshots can mean something to somebody. They may make for a good timeline, bring to mind the details of a particular event or place, even feelings and sensations can be rekindled. I have a fair amount of flawed stills but I like them absolutely as much as those that came out perfect.
When I officially kicked off my JADE project -- back in -- ohmygodyouguys -- 2008 -- this is the very first photograph I took:
I know, right? The very first photograph I took and it looks like that. I shoulda seen it as a sign of things to come.
Two uniformed policemen entering the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office:
Later, after an hour in the rain, at night, standing by a truck, I learnt they’re on the Charlottesville SWAT team with JADE Sgt. Joe Hatter.
When JADE members conducted an operation alongside the Virginia State Police:
And, no, that is not the Task Force’s VSP fierceness Joe Fleming. But…
Somewhere under the rainbow is Joe Fleming:
There’s an artful story to that -- which includes Granville Fields, Don Campbell, Paul Best, and a white pick-up -- but I’ve never gotten around to typing it out.
This Altima contains Jon Seitz, on his way from meeting a so-called Confidential Informant:
I dubbed that CI “Miller” because once, subsequent to getting together with Detective Seitz at the Ix building, he stopped at a local convenience store and bought two twelve-packs of beer. It wasn’t the purchase of the alcohol, however, that earned him the nickname; it was his flinging the empty cans out his car window as he cruised down I-64.
I have no remark for this one:
Except “oops.” Plus “it was your fault.”
A result of the long term effects of JADE-watching:
Getting acquainted with the dealers, too.
I used to look at people’s poor quality photographs and wonder why they’d share such bad pictures. I’ve since realized that even the worst snapshots can mean something to somebody. They may make for a good timeline, bring to mind the details of a particular event or place, even feelings and sensations can be rekindled. I have a fair amount of flawed stills but I like them absolutely as much as those that came out perfect.
When I officially kicked off my JADE project -- back in -- ohmygodyouguys -- 2008 -- this is the very first photograph I took:
I know, right? The very first photograph I took and it looks like that. I shoulda seen it as a sign of things to come.
Two uniformed policemen entering the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office:
Later, after an hour in the rain, at night, standing by a truck, I learnt they’re on the Charlottesville SWAT team with JADE Sgt. Joe Hatter.
When JADE members conducted an operation alongside the Virginia State Police:
And, no, that is not the Task Force’s VSP fierceness Joe Fleming. But…
Somewhere under the rainbow is Joe Fleming:
There’s an artful story to that -- which includes Granville Fields, Don Campbell, Paul Best, and a white pick-up -- but I’ve never gotten around to typing it out.
This Altima contains Jon Seitz, on his way from meeting a so-called Confidential Informant:
I dubbed that CI “Miller” because once, subsequent to getting together with Detective Seitz at the Ix building, he stopped at a local convenience store and bought two twelve-packs of beer. It wasn’t the purchase of the alcohol, however, that earned him the nickname; it was his flinging the empty cans out his car window as he cruised down I-64.
I have no remark for this one:
Except “oops.” Plus “it was your fault.”
A result of the long term effects of JADE-watching:
Getting acquainted with the dealers, too.
20100517
Someone Went To Court And All I Got Was This Lousy Post
Per my request, my court date was swapped from tomorrow, Tuesday, May 18, to today, Monday, May 17.
Being that I’m female, I have to start by telling you what I wore: fitted jeans, army-patterned Converse, a thin long-sleeve burn-out pullover topped by a snug short-sleeve white tee with a risqué Vargas picture on it. Normally I would never never never set foot inside a courtroom -- even as a spectator -- so dressed-down, but since I knew I wasn’t going to beat the charges regardless of my attire, I skipped the “pretty.” I didn’t even stress about covering my tattoos. Ha!
I was expecting a third of the JADE Task Force to testify against me. 1/3! Can you imagine? Instead, nearly half and a wife showed up! Half the effin’ Task Force! Who apparently had nothing better to do today -- or tomorrow, for that matter, since they were all available for then, too. Guess it’s kind of tough for them to slip back in the swing of things after having the complete weekend off. Again.
The wife, I’m told, was only there to see what I look like, which is kinda amusing ‘cause she barely looked at me. What woman waits years to get a glimpse of the chick her husband screwed, anyway? Whatever. She’s short and cute, though, and I can totally get why Detective O’Donnell digs her.
Oh, and all the officers were, of course, decked out in suits -- each man uniquely handsome, despite one of them still being yucky-fuzzy-faced. Wife had something lime green, and blocky-chunky-thingies for shoes; I don’t remember anything else she had on.
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement members present: Albemarle County Detectives Tavis Coffin, John Baber, and Jon McKay; Charlottesville Detectives Brian O’Donnell and Paul Best. Prosecution by Denise Lunsford.
Tavis Coffin testified first. He stated that he recognized my vehicle on Monticello in part because “detectives are trained to be observant.” That made me laugh, given that pretty much this whole I HeArTE JADE site is a testament to how unperceptive these guys are. It was even funnier when slick ol’ Cruiser Crasher subsequently admitted that none of the other three JADE men in the van with him at the time had observed me there. Glad I thought to scribble that question down for my attorney. Mr. Coffin either contradicted himself or lied, a lot -- it’s hard to distinguish the difference between incompetence and corruption. He’s young, so inexperience might explain the incongruities.
John Baber was up second. He didn’t say much, probably didn’t bear witness for but three seconds. He appeared as bored as I felt. I zoned out on his tie which was bright yellow with colorful aquatic creatures or something on it.
Next came Brian N. O’Donnell. The thing with Mr. O’Donnell is that he wasn’t there to testify to the alleged following. Rather, he spoke about my linking an image of his car to the St. Anne’s-Belfield School website, the educational institution where -- as he publicly declared, under oath -- his children are enrolled. Shoot, even I didn’t reveal that sort of information in the post in question. He also talked about my linking another photograph of his auto to an entry I made about him on here last year. Miz Lunsford claimed these links constitute “indirect contact” -- an additional “violation” she tacked on at the last minute, otherwise known as Friday, May 14.
For some reason, Miz Lunsford and Mr. O’Donnell made a point to discuss that he no longer uses his white Taurus for work anymore. It’s unclear to me at present why they dwelt on that element.
Jon McKay and Paul Best did not take the stand. It’s my understanding that Mr. Best couldn’t identify me on the date of the so-called following, and I have no clue what Mr. McKay’s failure was. Naturally, if they might’ve offered a mere inkling of doubt to her case, Miz Lunsford wouldn’t use them. I do give her bonus points for putting them on display with the others for the judge. Five sturdy Law Enforcement males in business attire… in front of the bench… standing shoulder-to-shoulder… spanning the courtroom… each with his right hand up… being sworn in… ‘Twas a highly impressive sight to behold.
I did not speak on my own behalf. I was ready, willing, and able. Boy, was I all three of those things! I was long ago convinced I would be found guilty; I wanted to get some enjoyment out of the process. My sole -- perhaps soul -- fear was that if I took the stand, I would be put in a position of having to name my sources. My lawyer couldn’t promise that wouldn’t happen and he and I were positive that’d be exactly the information Miz Lunsford would aim for. I didn’t want to be found in contempt; what if the judge incarcerated me until I responded to the prosecutor’s inquiries? I would die in jail because I don’t betray people who trust me. Heck, I don’t betray people who don’t trust me! On the flip side, it’s rough for me to back down when I’ve been challenged. Ultimately my sense of loyalty rose above my ego. And I don’t deny I struggled with it. You-know-whos better drop to their knees and thank me profusely.
I was found guilty by His Honor. I nodded and shrugged, semi-smiley. I’m not troubled by it in the least. There was no way I was going to take on multiple officers in their holy kingdom and be victorious. Those guys could’ve come in and avowed I was an enemy alien from the star Alythika and the entire courtroom would’ve been like “guilty!”
Miz Lunsford announced that she did not want me to serve the full six month, previously suspended, sentence, confessing she wanted to have something left to hold over me for the future.
Let’s play make-believe for a moment:
Let’s pretend I have a glass sphere. Let’s pretend it’s got both incredible financial and sentimental value to me. Let’s pretend I live for this glass sphere; I’d die for it. Let’s pretend it’s that important. Got it? Okay, now let’s pretend someone comes along and takes possession of that glass sphere. Said someone communicates to me if I don’t X or Y or I do this-n-that, said someone will shatter my sphere of significance into two million pieces. Can you guess what I will do? I will tell you what I will do. I will knock that glass sphere out of someone’s hands and smash it myself into four million pieces just so it can’t be used against me a second time.
With that in mind, can you infer how I feel about Miz Lunsford’s incentive plan? Yup.
Moving on.
I am mildly disturbed with the broad “indirect contact” nonsense. That I ostensibly can’t link to external sites or to my own old entries without risking an accusation and conviction of “indirect contact” is annoying. To say nothing of Free Speech trampling. Yet it does persuade me to get creative. So it’s all good.
Additionally, I’m all the more confused over how I am supposed to not conduct surveillance on the Task Force yet apparently I’m expected to -- what -- psychically? -- know where its members are in order to avoid “contact” with them.
I did re-propose, via counsel, the amicable method to put an end to all this. The arrogant Mr. O’Donnell remains resistant. He avers his unwillingness is due to his belief that I won’t keep my word to cease I HeArTE JADE activity. Bulloney! Always with the excuses, him. He fulfills his obligation and I don’t stop, well, what’s the difference? I’m not stopping now. He fulfills his obligation and I do stop, well, that’ll be that. What does he have to lose? I reckon just he and I know the answer.
The one -- the only -- thing that truly bothers me about this morning’s act is that it was not entertaining. The JADE fellas, as beautiful as they are, were humdrum. The testimony was mostly dry. The information was exceptionally worthless. The humor -- a most vital aspect -- was vacationing whereabouts unknown.
In conclusion, I got a ten day sentence. If you heard a thunderous bang slightly before noon today, that would’ve been JADE. Intentionally slamming the courtroom door as they left. Sheesh. Ya’d think they’d be happy. But, evidently, they’re even sore winners.
Being that I’m female, I have to start by telling you what I wore: fitted jeans, army-patterned Converse, a thin long-sleeve burn-out pullover topped by a snug short-sleeve white tee with a risqué Vargas picture on it. Normally I would never never never set foot inside a courtroom -- even as a spectator -- so dressed-down, but since I knew I wasn’t going to beat the charges regardless of my attire, I skipped the “pretty.” I didn’t even stress about covering my tattoos. Ha!
I was expecting a third of the JADE Task Force to testify against me. 1/3! Can you imagine? Instead, nearly half and a wife showed up! Half the effin’ Task Force! Who apparently had nothing better to do today -- or tomorrow, for that matter, since they were all available for then, too. Guess it’s kind of tough for them to slip back in the swing of things after having the complete weekend off. Again.
The wife, I’m told, was only there to see what I look like, which is kinda amusing ‘cause she barely looked at me. What woman waits years to get a glimpse of the chick her husband screwed, anyway? Whatever. She’s short and cute, though, and I can totally get why Detective O’Donnell digs her.
Oh, and all the officers were, of course, decked out in suits -- each man uniquely handsome, despite one of them still being yucky-fuzzy-faced. Wife had something lime green, and blocky-chunky-thingies for shoes; I don’t remember anything else she had on.
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement members present: Albemarle County Detectives Tavis Coffin, John Baber, and Jon McKay; Charlottesville Detectives Brian O’Donnell and Paul Best. Prosecution by Denise Lunsford.
Tavis Coffin testified first. He stated that he recognized my vehicle on Monticello in part because “detectives are trained to be observant.” That made me laugh, given that pretty much this whole I HeArTE JADE site is a testament to how unperceptive these guys are. It was even funnier when slick ol’ Cruiser Crasher subsequently admitted that none of the other three JADE men in the van with him at the time had observed me there. Glad I thought to scribble that question down for my attorney. Mr. Coffin either contradicted himself or lied, a lot -- it’s hard to distinguish the difference between incompetence and corruption. He’s young, so inexperience might explain the incongruities.
John Baber was up second. He didn’t say much, probably didn’t bear witness for but three seconds. He appeared as bored as I felt. I zoned out on his tie which was bright yellow with colorful aquatic creatures or something on it.
Next came Brian N. O’Donnell. The thing with Mr. O’Donnell is that he wasn’t there to testify to the alleged following. Rather, he spoke about my linking an image of his car to the St. Anne’s-Belfield School website, the educational institution where -- as he publicly declared, under oath -- his children are enrolled. Shoot, even I didn’t reveal that sort of information in the post in question. He also talked about my linking another photograph of his auto to an entry I made about him on here last year. Miz Lunsford claimed these links constitute “indirect contact” -- an additional “violation” she tacked on at the last minute, otherwise known as Friday, May 14.
For some reason, Miz Lunsford and Mr. O’Donnell made a point to discuss that he no longer uses his white Taurus for work anymore. It’s unclear to me at present why they dwelt on that element.
Jon McKay and Paul Best did not take the stand. It’s my understanding that Mr. Best couldn’t identify me on the date of the so-called following, and I have no clue what Mr. McKay’s failure was. Naturally, if they might’ve offered a mere inkling of doubt to her case, Miz Lunsford wouldn’t use them. I do give her bonus points for putting them on display with the others for the judge. Five sturdy Law Enforcement males in business attire… in front of the bench… standing shoulder-to-shoulder… spanning the courtroom… each with his right hand up… being sworn in… ‘Twas a highly impressive sight to behold.
I did not speak on my own behalf. I was ready, willing, and able. Boy, was I all three of those things! I was long ago convinced I would be found guilty; I wanted to get some enjoyment out of the process. My sole -- perhaps soul -- fear was that if I took the stand, I would be put in a position of having to name my sources. My lawyer couldn’t promise that wouldn’t happen and he and I were positive that’d be exactly the information Miz Lunsford would aim for. I didn’t want to be found in contempt; what if the judge incarcerated me until I responded to the prosecutor’s inquiries? I would die in jail because I don’t betray people who trust me. Heck, I don’t betray people who don’t trust me! On the flip side, it’s rough for me to back down when I’ve been challenged. Ultimately my sense of loyalty rose above my ego. And I don’t deny I struggled with it. You-know-whos better drop to their knees and thank me profusely.
I was found guilty by His Honor. I nodded and shrugged, semi-smiley. I’m not troubled by it in the least. There was no way I was going to take on multiple officers in their holy kingdom and be victorious. Those guys could’ve come in and avowed I was an enemy alien from the star Alythika and the entire courtroom would’ve been like “guilty!”
Miz Lunsford announced that she did not want me to serve the full six month, previously suspended, sentence, confessing she wanted to have something left to hold over me for the future.
Let’s play make-believe for a moment:
Let’s pretend I have a glass sphere. Let’s pretend it’s got both incredible financial and sentimental value to me. Let’s pretend I live for this glass sphere; I’d die for it. Let’s pretend it’s that important. Got it? Okay, now let’s pretend someone comes along and takes possession of that glass sphere. Said someone communicates to me if I don’t X or Y or I do this-n-that, said someone will shatter my sphere of significance into two million pieces. Can you guess what I will do? I will tell you what I will do. I will knock that glass sphere out of someone’s hands and smash it myself into four million pieces just so it can’t be used against me a second time.
With that in mind, can you infer how I feel about Miz Lunsford’s incentive plan? Yup.
Moving on.
I am mildly disturbed with the broad “indirect contact” nonsense. That I ostensibly can’t link to external sites or to my own old entries without risking an accusation and conviction of “indirect contact” is annoying. To say nothing of Free Speech trampling. Yet it does persuade me to get creative. So it’s all good.
Additionally, I’m all the more confused over how I am supposed to not conduct surveillance on the Task Force yet apparently I’m expected to -- what -- psychically? -- know where its members are in order to avoid “contact” with them.
I did re-propose, via counsel, the amicable method to put an end to all this. The arrogant Mr. O’Donnell remains resistant. He avers his unwillingness is due to his belief that I won’t keep my word to cease I HeArTE JADE activity. Bulloney! Always with the excuses, him. He fulfills his obligation and I don’t stop, well, what’s the difference? I’m not stopping now. He fulfills his obligation and I do stop, well, that’ll be that. What does he have to lose? I reckon just he and I know the answer.
The one -- the only -- thing that truly bothers me about this morning’s act is that it was not entertaining. The JADE fellas, as beautiful as they are, were humdrum. The testimony was mostly dry. The information was exceptionally worthless. The humor -- a most vital aspect -- was vacationing whereabouts unknown.
In conclusion, I got a ten day sentence. If you heard a thunderous bang slightly before noon today, that would’ve been JADE. Intentionally slamming the courtroom door as they left. Sheesh. Ya’d think they’d be happy. But, evidently, they’re even sore winners.
20100515
Of Purses And Public Buildings
I almost never carry a pocketbook. I really despise carrying a pocketbook. This day, because of too many errands to not, I had to carry a pocketbook.
Inside mine are a few common-to-handbag items: make-up, keys n wallet, sunglasses, pens. It also contains cameras, flashlights, a digital recorder, and beaucoup batteries. Plus, two screwdrivers -- the tool, not the drink. Don’t judge me. If I were a guy, no one would think anything of me toting around a full-size Philips and flat blade -- unless as a guy I was toting them around in a pink purse, in which case, yeah, I can see some judgment there.
All right, so I’m in the Albemarle General District Courthouse to find someone.
I walk up to the two Sheriffs? Deputies? whatever-they-ares -- I don’t think I’ve come across either gentleman before -- at the metal detector and hold out my portable pouch for them.
Before they even touch it, I say “There’s nothing in my purse I can bring in there” gesturing to the closed door that leads to the courtroom. “Can you just look through it then stick it in the corner?” I motion to the place on the floor off to the side where other officers have allowed me to store the cumbersome object in the past. The two men stare at me like I’ve asked them if I have snot oozing out of my nostrils.
As neither Officer Sit nor Officer Stand make a move to take and examine it, I deposit the purse on their table next to their tiny plastic bucket and explain “There are screwdrivers in it. And I know I can’t bring those into the courtroom.” Now it seems I’ve told them my snot is radioactive.
They refuse to let me leave my as-yet-to-be-probed purse behind -- something about it being against a rule; one which, they inform me when I inquisitively press them, happens to have been made this very morning! Gee.
At this point Officer Sit opens my carryall and pokes around. It makes no sense why he’s bothering now since it’s clear that not only can’t I bring it in there, neither can it stay out here. The act does, however, instantly give me an idea. “Hey! While y’all go through the bag, ya know before you tell me I can’t take it in there, I’m just gonna check to see if the person I’m looking for is in the courtroom, mkay?” With that, I pass through the metal detector.
Obviously I don’t set it off. Though I guess Officer Stand isn’t expecting the silence because he concurrently moves to block my path once I’m through. This time it is I who searches their faces for radioactive snot.
I mean, I’ve made it a point to not only let the uniform-clad duo know about the contraband, but also that I do not want -- in any way, shape, or form -- to bring it, or even the container it’s in, inside the courtroom. The metal detector isn’t bleating that I’m concealing anything, let alone a weapon, therefore what the hell is the problem?
I justifiably ignore Officer Sit and Officer Stand, rotate the doorknob and peek at the courtroom. Every Law Enforcement member in the place fixes eyes on yours truly. As does Commonwealth Attorney Denise Lunsford -- who, by the way, moments earlier had taken the long route to get into the building just so she could say “hello” to little ol’ me. But I don’t spot the right person.
I let the portal shut, reverse through the security device, smile at the matched set, retrieve my belongings, and sashay away.
A short time later, I find out Lunsford and the rest of the court folks are all in a tizzy because OH MY GOD SHE WAS TRYING TO SNEAK SCREWDRIVERS INTO THE COURTROOM!
Sigh.
On the one hand, maybe, maybe, if these people didn’t treat others as badly as they do, they wouldn’t have all that pent-up paranoia. On the other hand, isn’t it absolutely hilaridiculous?
Inside mine are a few common-to-handbag items: make-up, keys n wallet, sunglasses, pens. It also contains cameras, flashlights, a digital recorder, and beaucoup batteries. Plus, two screwdrivers -- the tool, not the drink. Don’t judge me. If I were a guy, no one would think anything of me toting around a full-size Philips and flat blade -- unless as a guy I was toting them around in a pink purse, in which case, yeah, I can see some judgment there.
All right, so I’m in the Albemarle General District Courthouse to find someone.
I walk up to the two Sheriffs? Deputies? whatever-they-ares -- I don’t think I’ve come across either gentleman before -- at the metal detector and hold out my portable pouch for them.
Before they even touch it, I say “There’s nothing in my purse I can bring in there” gesturing to the closed door that leads to the courtroom. “Can you just look through it then stick it in the corner?” I motion to the place on the floor off to the side where other officers have allowed me to store the cumbersome object in the past. The two men stare at me like I’ve asked them if I have snot oozing out of my nostrils.
As neither Officer Sit nor Officer Stand make a move to take and examine it, I deposit the purse on their table next to their tiny plastic bucket and explain “There are screwdrivers in it. And I know I can’t bring those into the courtroom.” Now it seems I’ve told them my snot is radioactive.
They refuse to let me leave my as-yet-to-be-probed purse behind -- something about it being against a rule; one which, they inform me when I inquisitively press them, happens to have been made this very morning! Gee.
At this point Officer Sit opens my carryall and pokes around. It makes no sense why he’s bothering now since it’s clear that not only can’t I bring it in there, neither can it stay out here. The act does, however, instantly give me an idea. “Hey! While y’all go through the bag, ya know before you tell me I can’t take it in there, I’m just gonna check to see if the person I’m looking for is in the courtroom, mkay?” With that, I pass through the metal detector.
Obviously I don’t set it off. Though I guess Officer Stand isn’t expecting the silence because he concurrently moves to block my path once I’m through. This time it is I who searches their faces for radioactive snot.
I mean, I’ve made it a point to not only let the uniform-clad duo know about the contraband, but also that I do not want -- in any way, shape, or form -- to bring it, or even the container it’s in, inside the courtroom. The metal detector isn’t bleating that I’m concealing anything, let alone a weapon, therefore what the hell is the problem?
I justifiably ignore Officer Sit and Officer Stand, rotate the doorknob and peek at the courtroom. Every Law Enforcement member in the place fixes eyes on yours truly. As does Commonwealth Attorney Denise Lunsford -- who, by the way, moments earlier had taken the long route to get into the building just so she could say “hello” to little ol’ me. But I don’t spot the right person.
I let the portal shut, reverse through the security device, smile at the matched set, retrieve my belongings, and sashay away.
A short time later, I find out Lunsford and the rest of the court folks are all in a tizzy because OH MY GOD SHE WAS TRYING TO SNEAK SCREWDRIVERS INTO THE COURTROOM!
Sigh.
On the one hand, maybe, maybe, if these people didn’t treat others as badly as they do, they wouldn’t have all that pent-up paranoia. On the other hand, isn’t it absolutely hilaridiculous?
20100511
20100508
Quotables
“I personally estimate the City of Charlottesville, there’s probably at least a thousand drug dealers in the City of Charlottesville; and we probably know just about every one of them.” Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer Paul Best
“I like to call it the ‘JADAR.’ Most of the dealers are on the JADAR ...eventually they’re going to get caught -- unless ya kill them first.” Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer Paul Best
“I like to call it the ‘JADAR.’ Most of the dealers are on the JADAR ...eventually they’re going to get caught -- unless ya kill them first.” Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer Paul Best
I’m Not Mad, And I’m The One It Happened To!
All right, unsettled people, the Trooper Doss story? ‘Twas supposed to be funny. The situation was funny. To me, anyway. But I got email. One here. One there. Then plentiful. From a variety of folks. Who apparently didn’t much find the humor in the Trooper abusing his power and detaining me for photography. One person wrote that it “truly bothers” him, another stated “my blood was boiling while I read it,” and someone else suggested I “march into the virginia state police barracks and raise hell.”
Wow.
It’s not as if I don’t believe Mr. Doss was 100% wrong for pulling me over, I just feel the event and he are more worthy of blithe ridicule than anger or disappointment.
I giggled when it was going down. I giggled when I wrote up the piece about it. I giggled when I posted it. The only part I did not -- do not -- appreciate is the “caution,” but the Trooper isn’t responsible for the existence of that.
So, darnit, laugh at my unlawful traffic stop! Otherwise I’ll be compelled to take the narrative down.
Wow.
It’s not as if I don’t believe Mr. Doss was 100% wrong for pulling me over, I just feel the event and he are more worthy of blithe ridicule than anger or disappointment.
I giggled when it was going down. I giggled when I wrote up the piece about it. I giggled when I posted it. The only part I did not -- do not -- appreciate is the “caution,” but the Trooper isn’t responsible for the existence of that.
So, darnit, laugh at my unlawful traffic stop! Otherwise I’ll be compelled to take the narrative down.
20100506
Caution: Subject Armed With Camera and Sharp Wit
There was a bug on the passenger window in the back seat. I pulled into a grocery store parking lot so I could safely free it to the great outdoors. I wonder how many bugs are responsible for car crashes. A kitty-corner flash caught my attention, and when I about-faced I saw a Virginia State Police cruiser leaving the convenience store across the path. My task of insect liberation over, I slipped back in place at the wheel and fished a camera out.
The Trooper stopped for the traffic signal at the shopping center and I rolled in behind him. I took a couple of pictures.
His left turn light sprang to life. Ha! Cool; we’re headed the same way. Trying to time the shutter to his blinker for the heck of it, I clicked another shot or two. We got the green. The Trooper accelerated like molasses.
I, in case you couldn’t guess, don’t have any qualms about passing a police car -- unlike the rest of the population does. The way I figure it, I’m legal, my car is legal, my driving is legal, the mere presence of Law Enforcement is not a reason to uncharacteristically travel 15 miles below the speed limit. It ain’t the Indianapolis 500; I don’t need a pace car.
I overtook Trooper Turtle and checked him out as I cleared his driver’s side. Kinda plain looking… spectacles… common lawman haircut…
I got up to speed and set the cruise control. Know what would be funny? If he pulled me over. Then I’d find out his name.
Turtle pretty much stayed equidistant in the rear. I thought about taking more photos of him via my side mirror, but sporadic rain from earlier made the reflection spotty and I knew none would come out well. Feh. I’ll just wait ‘til he rockets on by.
We drove in tandem for miles upon miles. When have you ever seen a Trooper drive for miles upon miles doing the speed limit? Exactly! It. Never. Happens. Hmm… lessee if I can make him pass me. Using my cc instead of my foot pedal, I slowed down just barely -- not enough to be obvious, though enough that, if he didn’t do the same, he’d catch up to me eventually. Apparently he did the same. What the…? If he intended to pull me over, he would’ve done it, like, a half hour ago! Bizarre. I glanced down at my scanner. He hasn’t called in my tags or anything. I dunno, maybe it has nothing to do with me. I tapped the gas and reset the cruise.
Settled in for the rest of the haul, I sang along with my music and occasionally peeked at Turtle back there.
At last we were approaching Charlottesville-Albemarle. There were two ways I could go to get where I needed, and the first one was rapidly coming up. I was planning on taking it. Until I saw Turtle become the Hare. He’d certainly stepped it up and would be passing me momentarily. Well, hey! It seems I’m going to get his picture after all. I lifted the camera as he flanked me, then squeezed the button.
Man, he jammed on his brakes so fast you woulda thought a tornado had landed in front of him! Scarcely a gasp later he activated his emergency lights. Well, hey! It seems I’m going to get his name after all.
Now, this is all kind of amusing to me. On the surface. But if you really think about it, you know, go a little deeper, I’m about to be detained for photography. One more time, real slow: phhhhhotoooooggraaaaaphy. And since I knew good and darn well that alone was the reason…
I scooped my recording device out of the console.
My power window will be uncooperative on occasion. Due to potential showers, I wasn’t going to test its functionality then and there. So when Trooper Turtle walked up, I carefully, blatantly, displayed both my hands, placing one along the panel where the glass and the frame meet and using the second on the door hasp. It’s a casual move other officers have seen me make, and I’ve never had a problem -- especially since I immediately explain why I didn’t simply do standard window-down procedure. In this case, however, when the access gave way, Trooper Turtle jumped back. Seriously jumped back. Jumped! I was mystified. What’s wrong with him? “The window sticks sometimes” I quickly said. He readjusted himself. I zeroed in on his name pin.
Trooper Doss requested my license and registration. Do they even ask for proof of insurance anymore? Without delay or hesitation, he pursued with the point of the pullover. “Why were you taking pictures of me?” Well, sir, see, I run this website, about the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, JADE, Task Force, because one of its detectives… Instead I replied, while retrieving my papers from the glove box, “Because I can?” I took that opportunity to set the camera -- which had been visibly resting on my lap -- on the seat next to me.
I then relinquished the solicited items to the man in uniform. Oh. My. God. His hands were shaking. Shaking! He had a pen, and he was trying to scribble something on the palm of his hand -- yes, on his hand -- and his hands were trembling worse than a heroin addict missing a fix. It. Was. Hilarious. But I didn’t laugh at him. Out loud.
Trooper Doss refused to drop the picture-taking topic. I refused to not toy with him about it. I deliberately gave ambiguous or non-committal answers to his inquiries on the subject. I attempted to get him to claim that photographing him or his wheels was a crime. He went right up to the line but didn’t quite go over it. I tried to cajole him into letting me get more images of his car and person. He was having none of that either. “Not while I’m on official business” he barked finally. Perfect set up. I had him clarify what he meant by “official business” and he indicated the traffic stop itself. Gotcha! Wait ‘til we wrap this up, babe.
He opprobriously informed me he’d noticed my taking the pics of him four thousand miles ago. Ah, so that’s why you were hanging in my backyard the whole time. Abruptly, he threatened to, get this, cite me for “reckless driving”! I bristled. Intimidation and bullying? Oh, boy, you better not even go there.
Yeah I might’ve let him slide on the whole “reckless driving” thing as a determent had he mentioned it at the onset but him throwing it out there the way he did, after he’d flagrantly made the stop about pictures?
My eyes hardened, and he and I orally combated briefly about reckless driving. I think he gathered mondo-fastola he’d chosen the wrong tactic to exploit on me. He let me know to sit tight and off he trod to his vehicle.
No sooner did he enter his auto, my scanner leapt to life. I listened as he communicated with the female dispatcher. He supplied my license number to her and asked specifically about a “caution” that his terminal had, previously I inferred, kicked back to him. Caution? What caution? The woman confirmed the “caution” -- that made me laugh -- then an instant later asked him to call the radio room. They’ve got me flagged in their system! Suddenly Trooper Doss being immoderately jittery started to make a bit of sense. It went even beyond typical cop annoyance at a stranger capturing him on film. I’m not your run-of-the-mill stranger, no, I’m tagged as a dangerous stranger, y’see. Pfft. Oh, please.
Now, this is all kind of amusing to me. On the surface. But if you really think about it, you know, go a little deeper, Law Enforcement has helped -- as a matter of fact, I do accept my role in this -- create what is honestly a rotten situation for both me and them. What happens if one of the policemen I encounter on a traffic stop is trigger-happy or extra on edge because of this BS, and I reach just a wee bit too fast for my ID and his comfort? Good strategy JADE -- the twits who arranged the predicament. Maybe they don’t mind if my insides get splattered across the windshield but did they consider for a single second the impact such might have on the guy with the badge who does the deed? Never mind; I already know the answer.
Trooper Doss rejoined me. He generated a pat verbal “warning,” although he didn’t specify what precisely the caveat was for. Who cared? The “official business” was complete. I launched into another stab at acquiring more images, mainly to vex him. It tickled me that he ultimately gave permission for “later.” Since ya know he did it because he had zip freaking idea just how very capable I am of tracking him down.
The thing is, if the Trooper had merely let me do my harmless whatever, all I would’ve had is a few pictures of his blue and gray -- which a vast amount of people see on a daily basis anyway. But he had to make an issue of it. So I got a nifty story out of it. Plus all the information I could want on him. Initials in a regional news article led to a full name led to a phone call to verify it’s the correct Trooper led to an address… you know the drill. Still entirely harmless, only exceedingly more of it.
That’s it for now. But it’s probably safe to assume I’ll be getting back to Trooper Doss “later.”
(Footnote)
The Trooper stopped for the traffic signal at the shopping center and I rolled in behind him. I took a couple of pictures.
His left turn light sprang to life. Ha! Cool; we’re headed the same way. Trying to time the shutter to his blinker for the heck of it, I clicked another shot or two. We got the green. The Trooper accelerated like molasses.
I, in case you couldn’t guess, don’t have any qualms about passing a police car -- unlike the rest of the population does. The way I figure it, I’m legal, my car is legal, my driving is legal, the mere presence of Law Enforcement is not a reason to uncharacteristically travel 15 miles below the speed limit. It ain’t the Indianapolis 500; I don’t need a pace car.
I overtook Trooper Turtle and checked him out as I cleared his driver’s side. Kinda plain looking… spectacles… common lawman haircut…
I got up to speed and set the cruise control. Know what would be funny? If he pulled me over. Then I’d find out his name.
Turtle pretty much stayed equidistant in the rear. I thought about taking more photos of him via my side mirror, but sporadic rain from earlier made the reflection spotty and I knew none would come out well. Feh. I’ll just wait ‘til he rockets on by.
We drove in tandem for miles upon miles. When have you ever seen a Trooper drive for miles upon miles doing the speed limit? Exactly! It. Never. Happens. Hmm… lessee if I can make him pass me. Using my cc instead of my foot pedal, I slowed down just barely -- not enough to be obvious, though enough that, if he didn’t do the same, he’d catch up to me eventually. Apparently he did the same. What the…? If he intended to pull me over, he would’ve done it, like, a half hour ago! Bizarre. I glanced down at my scanner. He hasn’t called in my tags or anything. I dunno, maybe it has nothing to do with me. I tapped the gas and reset the cruise.
Settled in for the rest of the haul, I sang along with my music and occasionally peeked at Turtle back there.
At last we were approaching Charlottesville-Albemarle. There were two ways I could go to get where I needed, and the first one was rapidly coming up. I was planning on taking it. Until I saw Turtle become the Hare. He’d certainly stepped it up and would be passing me momentarily. Well, hey! It seems I’m going to get his picture after all. I lifted the camera as he flanked me, then squeezed the button.
Man, he jammed on his brakes so fast you woulda thought a tornado had landed in front of him! Scarcely a gasp later he activated his emergency lights. Well, hey! It seems I’m going to get his name after all.
Now, this is all kind of amusing to me. On the surface. But if you really think about it, you know, go a little deeper, I’m about to be detained for photography. One more time, real slow: phhhhhotoooooggraaaaaphy. And since I knew good and darn well that alone was the reason…
I scooped my recording device out of the console.
My power window will be uncooperative on occasion. Due to potential showers, I wasn’t going to test its functionality then and there. So when Trooper Turtle walked up, I carefully, blatantly, displayed both my hands, placing one along the panel where the glass and the frame meet and using the second on the door hasp. It’s a casual move other officers have seen me make, and I’ve never had a problem -- especially since I immediately explain why I didn’t simply do standard window-down procedure. In this case, however, when the access gave way, Trooper Turtle jumped back. Seriously jumped back. Jumped! I was mystified. What’s wrong with him? “The window sticks sometimes” I quickly said. He readjusted himself. I zeroed in on his name pin.
Trooper Doss requested my license and registration. Do they even ask for proof of insurance anymore? Without delay or hesitation, he pursued with the point of the pullover. “Why were you taking pictures of me?” Well, sir, see, I run this website, about the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, JADE, Task Force, because one of its detectives… Instead I replied, while retrieving my papers from the glove box, “Because I can?” I took that opportunity to set the camera -- which had been visibly resting on my lap -- on the seat next to me.
I then relinquished the solicited items to the man in uniform. Oh. My. God. His hands were shaking. Shaking! He had a pen, and he was trying to scribble something on the palm of his hand -- yes, on his hand -- and his hands were trembling worse than a heroin addict missing a fix. It. Was. Hilarious. But I didn’t laugh at him. Out loud.
Trooper Doss refused to drop the picture-taking topic. I refused to not toy with him about it. I deliberately gave ambiguous or non-committal answers to his inquiries on the subject. I attempted to get him to claim that photographing him or his wheels was a crime. He went right up to the line but didn’t quite go over it. I tried to cajole him into letting me get more images of his car and person. He was having none of that either. “Not while I’m on official business” he barked finally. Perfect set up. I had him clarify what he meant by “official business” and he indicated the traffic stop itself. Gotcha! Wait ‘til we wrap this up, babe.
He opprobriously informed me he’d noticed my taking the pics of him four thousand miles ago. Ah, so that’s why you were hanging in my backyard the whole time. Abruptly, he threatened to, get this, cite me for “reckless driving”! I bristled. Intimidation and bullying? Oh, boy, you better not even go there.
Yeah I might’ve let him slide on the whole “reckless driving” thing as a determent had he mentioned it at the onset but him throwing it out there the way he did, after he’d flagrantly made the stop about pictures?
My eyes hardened, and he and I orally combated briefly about reckless driving. I think he gathered mondo-fastola he’d chosen the wrong tactic to exploit on me. He let me know to sit tight and off he trod to his vehicle.
No sooner did he enter his auto, my scanner leapt to life. I listened as he communicated with the female dispatcher. He supplied my license number to her and asked specifically about a “caution” that his terminal had, previously I inferred, kicked back to him. Caution? What caution? The woman confirmed the “caution” -- that made me laugh -- then an instant later asked him to call the radio room. They’ve got me flagged in their system! Suddenly Trooper Doss being immoderately jittery started to make a bit of sense. It went even beyond typical cop annoyance at a stranger capturing him on film. I’m not your run-of-the-mill stranger, no, I’m tagged as a dangerous stranger, y’see. Pfft. Oh, please.
Now, this is all kind of amusing to me. On the surface. But if you really think about it, you know, go a little deeper, Law Enforcement has helped -- as a matter of fact, I do accept my role in this -- create what is honestly a rotten situation for both me and them. What happens if one of the policemen I encounter on a traffic stop is trigger-happy or extra on edge because of this BS, and I reach just a wee bit too fast for my ID and his comfort? Good strategy JADE -- the twits who arranged the predicament. Maybe they don’t mind if my insides get splattered across the windshield but did they consider for a single second the impact such might have on the guy with the badge who does the deed? Never mind; I already know the answer.
Trooper Doss rejoined me. He generated a pat verbal “warning,” although he didn’t specify what precisely the caveat was for. Who cared? The “official business” was complete. I launched into another stab at acquiring more images, mainly to vex him. It tickled me that he ultimately gave permission for “later.” Since ya know he did it because he had zip freaking idea just how very capable I am of tracking him down.
The thing is, if the Trooper had merely let me do my harmless whatever, all I would’ve had is a few pictures of his blue and gray -- which a vast amount of people see on a daily basis anyway. But he had to make an issue of it. So I got a nifty story out of it. Plus all the information I could want on him. Initials in a regional news article led to a full name led to a phone call to verify it’s the correct Trooper led to an address… you know the drill. Still entirely harmless, only exceedingly more of it.
That’s it for now. But it’s probably safe to assume I’ll be getting back to Trooper Doss “later.”
(Footnote)
20100504
20100503
Sundries
I love the band Deer Tick. I have listened to their version of this one song countless times but only this morning did I catch these particular lyrics:
I know the police cause you trouble,
They cause trouble everywhere.
But when you die and go to Heaven,
You’ll find, there’s no policemen there.
Twice in one day members of Law Enforcement told me “no” I could not take a picture of their respective cars. One is a Trooper with the Virginia State Police -- story pending, and the other an Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Have photographs and audio of Tpr. VSP. So there! Agent FBI? So he’s-allowed-to-tell-me-no-because-I-adore-him. Shame both of them couldn’t have been as congenial as this officer.
I just found out Charlottesville Police Chief Tim Longo wears reading glasses. I’m unsure if he uses them out of necessity or merely so he can drama profoundness when he pulls them from his face.
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Detective Jon McKay passed me as I was leaving Court Square. Holy you-know-what -- somebody give that man a razor already! My aphrodisiacal Porn Star has turned into out-of-work actor Scruffy D’Dawgg. Eww…
I’ve decided it’s only State Police Investigators that are built like Goliaths -- à la Joe all-legs Fleming and the hefty Jason Trent. Garden-variety Troopers, not so much. Sure they can’t all be over six feet in stature, but I think the fellas should meet some kind of minimum height requirement. Like they have at carnivals: You must be taller than your vehicle or you don’t ride.
I know the police cause you trouble,
They cause trouble everywhere.
But when you die and go to Heaven,
You’ll find, there’s no policemen there.
____________ ♥ ____________
Twice in one day members of Law Enforcement told me “no” I could not take a picture of their respective cars. One is a Trooper with the Virginia State Police -- story pending, and the other an Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Have photographs and audio of Tpr. VSP. So there! Agent FBI? So he’s-allowed-to-tell-me-no-because-I-adore-him. Shame both of them couldn’t have been as congenial as this officer.
____________ ♥ ____________
I just found out Charlottesville Police Chief Tim Longo wears reading glasses. I’m unsure if he uses them out of necessity or merely so he can drama profoundness when he pulls them from his face.
____________ ♥ ____________
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Detective Jon McKay passed me as I was leaving Court Square. Holy you-know-what -- somebody give that man a razor already! My aphrodisiacal Porn Star has turned into out-of-work actor Scruffy D’Dawgg. Eww…
____________ ♥ ____________
I’ve decided it’s only State Police Investigators that are built like Goliaths -- à la Joe all-legs Fleming and the hefty Jason Trent. Garden-variety Troopers, not so much. Sure they can’t all be over six feet in stature, but I think the fellas should meet some kind of minimum height requirement. Like they have at carnivals: You must be taller than your vehicle or you don’t ride.
20100502
Haiku - Impressive Reciprocative Obsessive
so you still watch me
from three hundred miles away
with that going on
from three hundred miles away
with that going on
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