I find it interesting (read: terrifying) that the first reaction of every Baltimore City police officer I’ve ever dealt with has been, “How would you like to go to jail?” No matter what the perceived infraction, no matter what I say or how I behave, no matter what I’m wearing, their attitude is the same.
Last night, I walked Goblin down to the train station to meet Rob’s train at 9:30. The Amtrak web site said that his train was only one minute late, so I was puzzled when it hadn’t shown up after almost thirty minutes. By this time, Goblin was trembling in the chilly night air, so I put her in my jacket with just her head sticking out. Then I called Amtrak’s toll-free number; the recording also said the train should be on time, and as it clearly wasn’t, I decided to go into the station and see what it said on the arrivals board.
In Baltimore’s Penn Station, the arrivals board is an enormous structure that would be clearly visible from outside if it weren’t obscured by a hanging banner. With Goblin still in my coat, I walked in the door, looked around the banner to see Rob’s train had the word “DELAYED” next to it, and started to walk out again. With my hand on the door handle, it occurred to me that Rob’s train number was listed almost at the bottom of the board, meaning, since it was so late, that all of the trains that were supposed to arrive before it must also have been delayed for it not to be near the top. I turned around to check if this was true and had barely succeeded in this quest for information before a sour-faced police officer came running up yelling, “Hey buddy! No dogs in here! Get that dog out of here!”
I must be an optimist because I’m constantly stunned by the animal nature of people. I wasn’t carrying a bomb, just a tiny dog nuzzled in my coat. Moreover, it was perfectly obvious that I was only checking the arrivals board from the doorway, just as any number of waiting people must have been doing since every scheduled train was tremendously delayed. “Sorry,” I said. “Just checking the board for a second.”
“Get outside right now! Take that dog outside! Do you want to go to jail or something?”
I straightened myself up and glared at him. “Pardon me,” I said icily, “perhaps you didn’t hear me say that I was only taking a moment to check the train arrivals. I was just leaving.”
I must note here that I had been in the building for less than twenty seconds, probably closer to ten, and I hadn’t seen a sign anywhere saying that pets weren’t welcome in the station.
“I heard you,” he snapped. “Now get out!”
“Excuse me, I’d like to finish checking the board please,” I said. My words were polite in an attempt to contrast his boorishness, but I’m afraid I couldn’t do anything about my tone, which promised a slow and painful torture if he did not stop bothering me.
At that moment, I saw him twitch in a way that indicated he had just restrained himself, probably with great effort, from hitting me. Things from here on out are a blur. He mentioned at least twice more that he was going to take me to jail before I told him at least twice that he could fuck himself. To which he announced that now he was really going to arrest me, presumably for being disrespectful, and I told him he had absolutely no basis for arresting me since he had done nothing to generate any respect other than strap a gun on that morning like any criminal would. And then I got tired of looking at his wild-eyed, demented face and went home.
Normally, this is where I’d berate myself for not being a better person, but I’ve put up with so much utter nonsense lately that it frankly felt good to let off some steam. Further, a certain righteous fury I’ve been carrying around had found the perfect target. One of the defining characteristics of a fascist regime (the Bush Administration) or a police state (America under the PATRIOT Act) is that everyone must live in fear at all times, if not from mythical terrorists than from crossing whatever mechanism is in place to enforce the rules. The constant refrain of “Do you want to go to jail?”, whether it is in response to the concealing of a tiny dog or standing up for yourself upon getting a parking ticket or arguing about a fee with a bureaucrat, serves to reinforce the idea that, if we don’t just lower our heads and accept whatever nonsense they try to subject us to, we will be subject to even worse.
