I was hitchhiking. A guy picked me up. A few miles down the road we were pulled over by a state trooper.

The trooper was taking his time getting out of his cruiser. My driver was getting upset - glancing nervously in the rear view mirror. “What the hell is he doing? Fucking pig!” The trooper has finally emerged from his cruiser and is now checking his look in the driver’s door glass. “Jesus H Christ, what next?” My driver furiously rolled down his window and yelled back at the trooper “Hey pig! Did you forget your lint roller or some goddamn thing?” At ‘pig,’ the trooper straightened up, gazed up and down the empty highway and unsnapped the leather safety strap on his pistol. He began to walk up to the driver’s side of our car. He had his right hand firmly on his weapon. I had my hand on the door handle, ready to jump out and run for my life. The driver was halfway out the window, almost screaming . “So tell me, pig, just what do you want? Why the hell did you pull me over?” The trooper crouched down so his face was even with the driver’s. His face showed no emotion. I was jammed up tight to passenger side door, eyes wide, hands up, trying to make it clear I’m Not With This Guy. The trooper held the driver in a steady gaze. Finally, he spoke: “What time are we supposed to be at Mom’s house tonight, asshole? I’ve got her birthday cake back at the office.”