As if these guys don't already have PR issues.
I hadn't planned to yell at a police officer this afternoon.
I was trying to cross a busy street downtown. I had the baby in one arm and the oldest by the hand. The signal at the pedestrian crossing wasn't working. I'd hit the button half a dozen times but the lights wouldn't come on. Cars began lining up at an intersection ahead. I saw a police cruiser approaching and thought, "Oh, good. He'll stop for us."
And he did stop. In the middle of the crosswalk. I tightened my grip on the oldest's hand and rushed them across the road, weaving around the idling cars, when I saw the police officer staring down at his phone.
My fist pounded on his passenger window of its own volition. He looked up from his phone, startled, and rolled down the window.
"You're in the middle of the crosswalk, and you're on your phone," I spat.
Doughy faced. Twenty-five, maybe thirty. Startled but measured. "I'm looking for a suspect," he said.
That's when I should have said: "Oh really? On your phone?"
And: "Give me your badge number."
I didn't. I threw up my hands and huffed off toward the parking garage, bristling with adrenaline.
"That was a cool police car," the four-year-old said.
272/365. Image courtesy of MaxPixel and used under a Creative Commons license.