a personal encounter with dc metropolitan police

i reached back to get a bottle of water from rahmah
when he sounded his siren and turned on his lights.
in my head i’m like: what did i do?

he took his time coming to the car.
i look at his reflection in my side view mirror and i’m like: “well?…”
i guess he was checking my tags
or police regulations
or finishing his game of solitaire on the in-car computer.
(wAllahi, i’ve seen that before, yknow.)

then i catch my muslim-composure.
i start thinking about which surah i can say
so i don’t get a ticket.
i can’t think of one,
so i start saying surah Al Ikhlas:

Bismi Allahi alrrahmani alrraheem
Qul huwa Allahu ahad
Allahu alssamad
Lam yalid walam yoolad
Walam yakulahu kufuwan ahad

In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Dispenser of Grace
Say He is The One God
God the Eternal, the Uncaused Cause of All Being
He begets not, and neither is He begotten
and there is nothing that can be compared to Him

on the third time
i was rolling down the window
as i finished the last verse.

so, he comes up and ask for my license and registration
all ugly-like from the get-go.
“can i ask why you stopped me?” i say.
“you’ve got an illegal tag cover on your car,” he says, “that’s a $500 fine.
take it off your car now or i’m going to give you a $500 ticket.”

somewhere in this poignant discussion
we ended up at the back of the car.

he’s like: “i know what it’s for. it’s to stop the red light cameras.”

yeah, einstein.

“that’s a $500 fine. don’t you know that it’s illegal?”
“no, the web site says it was legal.”
“how much did you pay for that?”
“about $20.”
“yeah, it’s illegal. that’s a $500 fine.”

so, i head back to open the door so I could flip the trunk lever.
my keys are in the ignition cause i have the air on.
rahmah is with me.

“you’re going too slow. give me your license. you can talk about it in court”
“why? i can’t get my tools out of the trunk? how am i supposed to get it off?”
“just rip it off! who put it on?”
“my husband.”
so, i go to the back again and try pulling it a little to see if i can, in fact, just rip it off.
it gave easily to my surprise,
but i’m not a just-rip-it-off kinda woman.

with a jagged-edge license plate cover in my hand,
i went back to get in the car.
then he says,
“give me your license.”
“why? i took it off.”
“i want to see if you have a valid license.”
i sit down in the car,
and say “excuse me” so he can get out of the way so i can close my door.
i search through my purse.
for just a second i’m thinking i may not have it,
but i find it and hand it to him through the window.

he goes back to the car,
plays a quick game of hearts,
and comes back to give me my license.
i manage to push a “thanks” out of my lips,
put the car in drive, and
Allah gave me a green right-turn arrow
at just the right moment so i could get away from that donkey’s backside.

ooo, i was so mad!
i wanted to cuss,
but instead i was inspired to thikr:

astaghfirAllah, astaghfirAllah
[i ask Allah for forgiveness, i ask Allah for forgiveness]

for a few of them astaghfirAllah’s i had to hold back tears,
then i said them through tears.
ooo, that man had me so mad.
he was SO rude.
just plain, unecessarily rude, ugly, and intimidating.

ishaq called on my cell:
“when are you coming home?”
“i just got stopped by the police,” i say.
“why?” he asks.
“hold on…”
i was searching for composure so i wouldn’t cry on the phone like an emotional little girl.
maybe i’m pregnant.
once i found my composure:”he told me that the tag was illegal.”
“oh… so, when are you gonna be home?”
can a women get a little sympathy?
he knows how callous, overbearing and uncouth the dc metro police can be.
i salaam-ed him and got off the phone.
we wasn’t no help.

i wiped my tears in the car before i headed in the house
stone-faced.
i lay down and tried to take a siesta with rahmah,
but she wasn’t trying to sleep.

later i found my solace
in this blog.

i am SO ready to leave this place.