Constitutional Scholar 

Friends, I know it’s been a long time since I’ve written, and most of you have asked
why I haven’t been keeping up with my Tales From the Hood.  Well, there is a reason
for it, but I won’t punish you with the details right now.


So, I’m going to lighten the mood a bit by starting off with a short, funny tale.


So there I was…


…patrolling around a sector I’m not normally assigned to, when a two-officer unit
nearby radioed they’d be out with two suspicious people.  A minute or so later, one
of the officers radioed for cover, and I could tell by the pitch of his voice that
he wanted someone fast.  When you work with people all the time in high stress
situations, you learn to key in on things like that.  He wasn’t screaming like a
little schoolgirl; rather, he was just barely an octave higher than normal.


I was somewhat close, so I stepped on it.  About a minute later I pulled up on them,
and saw they already had one of the two suspects handcuffed and secured in the back
seat.  They were in the process of handcuffing the second one when I arrived.


Apparently the need for cover was already taken care of, because the second suspect
was totally compliant.  I guessed his friend wasn’t (which is why he was secured
first) based on my friend’s question.


He asked suspect #2, “What’s up with the Constitutional Scholar?”  He was asking
about suspect #1, and I quickly gathered from experience he was THAT guy ­ you know,
the one who thinks he knows everything about the law, loudly questions your
“probably cause” to detain him, etc.  Sometimes they even fight you, not realizing
that if they’d just shut up and let us figure out what is going on they’ll be on
their happy way in about five minutes.


Now, suspect #2 may have been compliant, but he was NOT smart by any stretch of the
imagination.  He responded by raising his eyebrows and gazing with that blank,
empty, completely marijuana-induced stare.


Finally, after about ten seconds of nothing, he said, “Huh?”


“The Constitutional Scholar, your buddy.  What’s his problem?”  My friend asked
again.


Again the marijuana stare.  This went on a few more times, and finally I
interrupted.  I’ve never really been known for my patience, you see.


“Why is your friend such a prick?” I asked.  With potheads you have to dumb things
down.  It breeds creativity, but intelligence it destroys.


“Oh, I don’t know.  He just don’t wanna get in trouble for that weed, I guess.”


Thanks, dude.  Not only did you give me a laugh you gave me a reason to search your
buddy for the weed.


Doom on you, dirtbag.