The Worst Time I Was Pulled Over

The Worst Time I Was Pulled Over

My commute to work is the same every day. From my house it’s a 20 minute straight shot down Shea Boulevard until I reach my job working as a vet tech. I listen to K-Pop on the way there. Sometimes in the mornings I stop for Starbucks. Some days I hit every green light, some days every red light. The commute itself though is thankfully always uneventful.

This morning is one of the times where I hit every red light. My favorite Stray Kids songs are playing on shuffle in the background. I’m driving the speed limit. Everything seems normal until I pass a cop car that ends up pulling behind me on the road. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong but my stomach drops anyway. I’m a reformed speed demon with a natural lead foot, so my history of speeding tickets adds to the innate nervousness I feel. I pull over into the middle lane to prove to myself that they aren’t following me specifically.

We come up to a red light at Scottsdale and Shea. The police car stays in the right lane but they’ve stopped behind me and I can see from my rearview mirror that they’re looking at my license plate. What did I do wrong? Is all I can think as I’m waiting for the light to turn green again. As soon as it does, the cop car merges into the middle lane so they’re directly behind me. What did I do wrong? I keep thinking. After we pass the intersection, I pull over into the right lane again, still trying to convince myself that it’s not me they’re after. The seed of dread rooted in my stomach is growing. The car pulls over behind me again. Now I’m thinking back through the drive to figure out what I possibly could have done wrong. I feel confident I wasn’t speeding. Could it have been something else? Maybe one of my tail lights is out? Did I forget to signal at some point? My mind is racing when the police car’s lights flick on. Except it’s not just that car. Four other police cars flip their lights on too and are following me down Shea. My mind goes blank. I know I need to pull over quickly, so I turn right on Hayden to get off the busy street and pull to the side and immediately park my car. 

Now I’m pulled over and there are five squad cars pulled over behind me. The cops have all gotten out of their vehicles and they have their guns drawn. What the hell did I do wrong? I think for the last time before they start shouting directions at me that I can barely hear over the sound of cars passing. I have to ask them to repeat each of the instructions at least once and I’m scared of what could happen if I hear them wrong. “Turn off your car!” I turn off my car. “Put your keys on top of your car!” Okay. “Keep your hands where we can see them and step out of your vehicle facing away from us!” I get out of my vehicle, turn my back to the police officers and keep my hands raised towards the sky. I never thought I’d know what it feels like to have multiple guns pointed at my back. I want to cry but I hold it together. My heart is racing. I feel lightheaded and confused. There’s a sense of derealization. Everything feels unreal and foggy. It’s like I’m in a nightmare that I can’t wake up from. My whole body is tense and shaking. The sounds of traffic are amplified in my mind and my own thoughts are scrambled. I can’t help but wonder about what the cars passing by must be thinking as they watch the scene unfold.

“Now walk back towards the sound of my voice!” I step back. “Keep walking!” I keep walking. I want to fall apart but the fear and terror I feel is propelling me back toward them. Back and back until I’m close enough that they can get me down on my knees and handcuff me. The handcuffs are plastic and stiff. I feel vulnerable and helpless. The asphalt feels rough against my knees through my thin scrubs. I think I must be going to jail for something but I have no idea what. My eyes have been on the ground this whole time until they ask me, “Is that your car?” “Yes,” I answer confidently. When I look up at my 2009 Honda Civic, I immediately notice something off about it. “Is that your license plate?” They ask. “No, my license plate says SWR G8TR.” I tell them. I had paid for the vanity plate a few months ago as an homage to my dog, Gator. The license plate currently on my car is just a generic mix of numbers and letters. The air shifts as everyone starts to realize I’m not the criminal they think they’re after. They run the VIN number and confirm it’s my car. As soon as they take off the handcuffs, the panic, dread and confusion I’d been holding together just falls apart and I start bawling. 

Now all of the officers are crowding around me and apologizing. They’re trying to explain that this was just the procedure that they had to follow because I could have been a criminal. I think they seem nice, but a moment ago they were pointing deadly weapons at me. They explain that the plate that is currently on my car is a stolen license plate. They start asking me questions. “Did you notice that your license plate was different?” I explain that no, I had just been home sick with COVID for two weeks and I never would have thought to look at my license plate before getting in my car. They asked if I knew anyone who would have targeted me specifically, I said no. They took the license plate from my car, said they had flagged my SWR G8TR plate as stolen and then they took down my information in case they had any follow up questions and sent me on my way. I’m going to miss that license plate.

I sobbed as I continued my drive into work. I sobbed the entire rest of the day. Some of my coworkers checked on me, but they mostly just left me alone. I should have just gone home but I couldn’t afford to. I couldn’t get over it.  I had been pulled over before for speeding tickets. Even been handcuffed once before for excessively speeding. However, this was a completely new, different and traumatizing experience. I couldn’t help but think about all of the different ways the situation could have gone wrong. What it would have been like if I wasn’t a white, unassuming woman. All it could have taken was one wrong step, one misheard instruction, one pull of the trigger for things to have gone completely different. The experience left me with trauma that affected my driving. I started experiencing a lot of anxiety when it comes to driving and mental health. I felt especially anxious at night because I started to feel like every car that pulled up behind me was a cop car. I drive so cautiously now that I never stray from the right lane and stay five miles under the speed limit. I spent a lot of time addressing this in therapy.

The experience changed how I view the police. It took my trust away from them. They’re supposed to protect us but they made me feel unsafe and targeted. I was a victim of a crime but was treated like a violent criminal. The police didn’t help me get my property back. They left me having to pay for a new license plate and for therapy sessions. It made me think a lot about the stories that have become rampant in the news about different accounts of police violence and situations that ended much worse than mine did. The police utilize unnecessary amounts of violence, escalating what could be peaceful situations into volatile ones. 

Guns are everywhere in our society. We see them in TV shows and movies. Hear news stories about gun violence and mass shootings. There are stories everywhere about police brutality. However, experiencing the fear and helplessness of having guns pointed at you shatters all your perceptions of safety and comfort. Why do we need five armed squad cars to handle a stolen license plate? If that’s all it takes to have your life threatened by police, then there is something wrong with society. It shows that there is an overwhelming theme of violence that has been normalized. It comes at a cost and takes a toll on us as people. We should be owed a certain amount of safety, but instead we are made to feel like we are walking around with targets on our backs.