Police encounter

I truly cannot think of any significant encounter with the police. I’m lucky enough to have never been questioned, stopped, or harassed. The clearest image I have of police is their movement en masse along Fifth Avenue during The Saint Patrick’s Day parade. Happy, smiling, the image of justice and positivity.

And yet, whenever I pass the police on the street, it is not this ideal that I think of. Their eyes always look black, their jaws tight, their stance hostile. While this often melts into a ‘good afternoon’ or just a nod, I still feel uncomfortable and unsafe around them.

        It’s because I know that while I’m left alone, so many other innocent people are not so lucky. I am a middle class white woman, and that is likely the reason. It is in no way right, but statistics don’t lie: ‘minorities’ (which is an obsolete word in a diverse city such as New York) are stopped more than white people.

I experienced this firsthand back in high school. After a day at Coney Island, a friend and I were heading to the train when we noticed the emergency exit was open, and the booth worker was not paying attention. We had Metrocards, but we jumped at the chance at a free ride. We were just three feet past the exit when we heard, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” We turned to see two cops coming out from behind the pillar, and simultaneously blurted, “Oh sh*t.”

     The cops came up to us, but almost immediately turn their attention to my friend, who happens to be Hispanic with a dark tan. They told him he was in a lot of trouble, that they could take him in et cetera, and continuously ignored me as I tried to make excuses. They eventually wrote him a ticket, but not me. Four years later, and I’m still shocked.