History Cheese it, it's the fuzz

I had something like that happen where I live now but it was a off duty cop that decided to come to my house. I got a good laugh when I finally confronted him for taking the law into his own hands and being on my property then he whipped out his badge. Badge or not he was still wrong, my car hadn't left the garage in months.

 

You guys reminded me of a real funny one with my buddy lyonel .

he had a very fast fox body mustang in high school and where where out on a Friday cruising the strip in Toronto .

lyonel cuts down an alley way and just mashed the loud pedal , blast through a stop sign dukes of hazard style AIR BORN !!

of course a cop see is and immediately pulls us over gets to the car spitting and foaming at the mouth he was so angry.

just as he asks for drivers license some guy spins around the corner yelling “ OFFICER OFFICER SOMEONES BEEN STABBED … THIS WAYYY !!!!!”

cop looks at us and says fuck your lucky night boys and peels outta there in the opposite direction.

well , we get back on the main drag and decide to park and walk around and grab a drink. Bump into the guy who yelled about the stabbing , he was with 4-5 people . So we ask him is everything ok ? What happened ?

he starts laughing and says , naw man I made all that up !! Nothing happened just wanted to bust the cops balls and get him off your asses !!!

free round for all of them at the next bar we passed !

 

Freshly licensed and out cruising on a Friday night. Had just gotten to the main drag when I get the lights. No reason for a stop, checks my DL and looks inside the car, let's me go. Back on the road for two blocks when a cruiser coming at me makes a big hangen shit hook and throws the lights on. Same thing, DL check, flashlight zooming the inside of the car, let's me go. Around midnight heading for home, yup, pulled over again. WTF? Turns out the old man had called the cop shop and requested them to pull my ass over anytime they felt like it.

 

Posted this a long time ago but one of my faves, and yes I guess I'm a dick.

I leave the shop one day while working prototype in Dbn Hgts. Thunder in the distance, storm coming. I get to the corner and see 12 cops total, all checking for seat belts. I wasn't and one of the on-foot sees me. I turn right, slide my arm in and go about my business. 2 blocks down, pulled over.

"License and registration, insurance..." more thunder, a bit louder. "What for? I mean yeah I got it but..." "No seatbelt." "I got it on, what's up?" "You didn't and you know it. Where's your insurance?" I was looking, purposely in the console, I knew it was in the glovebox. "Damn, where did she put it? I got it, this is my wife's car normally. What the hell, we just got the new ones Monday." "Hurry up..." More louder thunder. "I'll check the glovebox. Is that ok with you, I don't wanna make you nervous." "C'mon, hurry up." SPLAT...SPLAT-SPLAT...SPLAT-SPLAT-SPLAT, then it starts raining like pouring piss from a boot! He throws my stuff back and yells "PUT YOUR DAMN BELT ON!!" as he gets soaked going back the car. Yeah, I'm a dick. I was hoping it would pour down on his ass. Seatbelt tickets? 12 cops? What, no crime that day? Full disclosure I do have big respect for law enforcement but he deserved it.

And don't tell me how important it is to ALWAYS wear a seatbelt. Inertia locks fuck my lower back on shitty roads, and we here in the Motorstate have some shitty roads.

 

This just just came to mind, when working for my Uncle me and a pal from school were delivering a customers car, one afternoon. Me in my primered gray 57 him in a green 61 chev. Side by side we left a light. Since it was up hill of course the pedals were floored.

Before I knew what-what he gets pulled over in customers car. Being the loyal and true friend that I was, two streets up I hang a right, go in a few spaces and take a parking spot. I walk to the corner and wait til he comes along. Seeing me, he stopped, I get in to find him laughing in his deep loud voice. He just loved giving the authorities a hard time. The Cop knew this wasn't going to be an easy conviction and gave up on it.

 

This episode was posted last year. I was 17, after nite shift at the Gulf station, 11:30 or so, 9th street and The Boulevard begins the expressway. I got Dad's Chevelle wagon (283, three on the tree 4:11 rear) I just loved wringing that motor out. The car next to me was a powder blue 62 Olds convert. As the yellow shows for 9th st I'm bringing up the Rs. I launched effortlessly ( no burnout ) just gone. I left 2nd gear at the posted speed limit. Pulling hard in 3rd now its uphill. I see the blue fender creeping up on my left. I knew I was out-motored. Looking over I see the passenger sit up, bring his arm over the door showing me the HP patch on his leather shoulder.

We both pulled over, they looked at my red and white license ( junior lic. under 18 yrs old-not valid after midnight ). They yelled and ranted at me for awhile with threats of their power to keep me off the street. Then turned me loose.
A few years later, another part of town they took me in at 4:15AM for trying to get to work in a rush. They claimed I was dragin against a Mustang. Don't know what action he received.

 

Years later, no longer a kid, my H.S. sweetheart of a wife had became a seeker, while I was working 12 hour days every day of the week. When it blew apart I became a drunk and a scofflaw. Regardless of the varied violations, I couldn't give a crap. Notices of suspension started to come, 30 days 60 days etc. One day I opened up an official notice, it made laugh. It didn't say suspended, it said revoked. I dropped it in the can. Drove carefully for five years. Went to AA. Exercised my freedom to buy oil and gasoline. One fine day they told me that I should come to take a driving test.

 

Hello,

Growing up in the Westside of Long Beach, there were a ton of different nationalities. The main ones in our Elementary, Junior H.S. and High School location was the Hispanic community. There were popular athletes, local merchants/store owners, and tons of great kids that did well in school. Our group in the Elementary and Junior H.S. revolved around not being able to get around, due to not having cars or transportation. A walk to the city bus service took a while and we had to have money saved to go to and come back from the downtown area.

One of the popular things was to learn the slang language of our school friends. As we entered Junior High School, the popular thing was to wear pressed “Dickies” with a cool crease. My mom had a full size ironing machine press and it was easy to put in the Dickies to get a crease that no others had. The idea of wearing Dickies, Pendletons and shiny hard toe shoes was the outfit we wore at the time. Luckily, my parents went along with the style of dress, but did not take any photos… thank goodness.

If anyone looked at the abundance of preteen boys hanging around the school, it would have been comical to see the dress of Pendleton/Dickies combo on every corner and on the school grounds. Who started the look for us? We had some cool friends from Elementary School and new friends from other Elementary Schools that all funneled into the Junior High School.

So, since the Junior High School days were full on “acceptance time period” by other pre teens and teenagers, we went with the flow to blend in as much as possible. The odd clothing style was a far cry from the other side of the playground/school grounds, rear belt buckle pants with peg legs and a button down shirts.

Jnaki

Student divisions could be seen as cultural, but it just depended on which group you wanted to be associated with as a new kid in school. One of the things was learning conversational Spanish in our school classes. When hanging around the neighboring parks and playgrounds, we learned the key words. One of the word sayings was “La Houda.”

No one wanted to get caught during the searches at the school or hamburger stands with cigarettes or whatever, but the term “La Houda” was used by most of our friends as we all watched out for each other. Kind of an “Us against them” situation. Someone would say… here comes “La Houda” and we got rid of all incriminating items.

One time after a neighborhood fight, we were running down an alley and someone said ‘La Houda.” Instantly we climbed over a fence and landed in a nicely landscaped yard. It was the back patio of the local, closed library. It certainly was a very odd ball time growing up in that neighborhood influence.

By the time we were in high school, that fad changed to other things and the influence of the Hispanic culture was still evident. Friends were still friends, but we all had different directions that pulled us away. Our parents were happy for the change. Levis, white T-shirts and desert boots were the main attire, then add JC sandals/no socks and the 1959-63 So Cal look was it.

The Dickies bit the dust, the shiny shoes were donated, and the Pendletons stuck around for a few years, but eventually, bit the dust as they smelled in the fog and mist. But now, we were into sports, surfing and cruising around with other hot rod/drag race/surfing kids. No more “La Houda” was necessary, just watch out for “the cops” when hiding in various neighborhoods, from a raid or show of power after a big time Cherry Avenue drag race or two. YRMV