My buddy Willis was at my place, we were watching a Broncos game, something I haven’t done for three years. Five years ago, I would’ve told you I bleed blue and orange. 10 years ago, becoming a Colorado resident just so I could become a waiting list hopeful for season tickets was a dream of mine. This story takes place about 15 years ago, back when the world did or did not spin according to wether or not the NFL was in season.
We were watching a Broncos football game, I don’t remember who they were playing now, it might’ve been the Steelers. It was a night game, though, I remember that much and it’s toward the end of the season—mid to late December. I know that because it’s “cold” in Southern California, you know, low-50’s, ”brrr.” I remember I had to work the following morning and it was pretty late, around 9pm, so it would’ve been either a Sunday or Monday night when Travey called me.
He’s drunk guy, completely smashed, I can tell he’s been drinking all day and that’s not the worst part, he’s driving. He’s on a Southern California freeway somewhere and he’s telling me he can’t see the road. Willis and I immediately jump into action “what are you thinking, Travey?! You can’t drive right now, man, you have to stop the car, Trav.” The Broncos are still on TV, there’s only a few minutes left in the game and I’m trying to figure out where he’s at.
“Where are you exactly? What freeway are you on?” I’m asking him if he can read any of the signs around him. Eventually we learn he’s on the 210 West approaching University. I know where that is—20 minutes from my house, “exit University.” I told him “pull into the first driveway you see and I’ll come get you.” I can vaguely remember a strip mall right there and there’s a liquor store in the strip mall, it has a bright yellow sign outside that says ‘Market’ in black. “Just wait there, take the keys out of the ignition, we’ll be there in 30 minutes.” He said he’s pulling in the driveway. I waited until he was parked and his keys were out of the ignition before I hung up, he’s safe now. “See you when you get here” he said and about 10 thank you’s, “man, thank you!” “Thanks!” “Thank you!” ..”Thanks dude!”.... “Man, thanks!” We hung up the phone.
I threw on some shoes, Willis said he’d roll with me, we waited a couple more minutes for the game to end and took off toward the 210 and University—I think the Broncos won. Willis and I are both wearing shorts and t-shirts. I wish I would’ve thrown on pants and a jacket, a pair of gloves and a beanie that night—it was cold outside and I wasn’t prepared to be face down in a crowded public parking lot for an extended period of time.
We took off toward the 210 freeway and exited University within 30 minutes of the phone call. We pulled into the first driveway we saw, it’s that strip mall I was telling you about with the bright yellow sign that says market in black. I see Travey’s car, the back hatch is wide open, it has at least one flat tire I can see and it’s parked diagonally across two parking spaces—no Travey.
I parked opposite of his car, less than 20 feet away from it, the rear of my vehicle is facing the liquor store entrance—about 20 yards from the front door. As soon as I parked the car, Travey exited the liquor store and is walking toward my car, he’s stumbling drunk and can hardly stand on his feet. I pulled the e-brake real quick, jumped out of the car and helped him to the back seat. He’s in my car now and seat belted in. I walked over to his car and closed the back hatch before returning to the drivers seat of my own car. Willis is already riding shotgun, Travey is in the back and it’s time to get him home. He said “I need my tools!”
“You sure you don’t want to come back in the morning and get them, Trav?” He said he has to work in the morning, “I gotta go to work tomorrow.” I opened my door, “my box is in the back seat” he said. As soon as I stepped out of my vehicle, a police car pulled into the parking lot with two officers in it, a woman driver and a man passenger.
I approached Travey’s car. The male officer shouted “touch that car and you’re going to jail!” I said “my buddy’s tools are in there, I just need to get his toolbox.” From the passenger side of the police car, the same male voice shouted back “touch it and you go to jail—if your buddy steps foot out of the car, he’s going to jail too!”
I’m standing in the middle of a parking lot. It’s beginning to load up with spectators and now there’s a police car parked in the middle of the lot. “No problem, officer” and proceeded to walk back to my vehicle. I was only a few steps away from my driver door when Travey jumped out of the back seat, “I need my tools!” I’m yelling at him “no! No! No! No! Get back in the car! Don’t get outta the car!!” It’s too late. The police officers put their cruiser in park and rushed us.
The female officer immediately cuffed Travey’s hands behind him, he’s going to jail, she walked him to their police car and began the searching and interrogation process. The male officer, a real gem, yells across the parking lot at me, in between a multitude of obscenities, “don’t F’ing move! Touch the F’ing (etc) roof of your car with both hands and don’t take your hands off the car until I F’ing say so, do I make myself clear?!” “Yes, sir” I told him. He ordered Willis “passenger! Reach outside the window with both hands and open the door, now!” Willis stuck his hands out of the window and opened the door, “now, exit the vehicle slowly! Do not look at me!! Both of you turn around, with your backs facing me and hands in the air where I can see them, walk backward toward me, now!!” He’s drawn a lot of attention to us. Willis and I are both walking backward toward the officer with our hands in the air.
Neither of us have said a wOrd to either of these officers other than “yes” or “no” responses since they pulled in the parking lot and I told them “my buddies tools are in there,” referring to his toolbox and “no problem” as soon as I was ordered to return to my car—that’s it! Not one additional word, question, nothing other than that has been said and we’re being ordered to walk backward to this officer in front of a crowd of onlookers. We haven’t been drinking, it’s late at night, we both have identification and neither of us have arrest records. We aren’t dressed for the cold weather and we’re being ordered to walk backward in the direction of the extremely agitated male police officers voice.
What we didn’t know was, during the 30 minutes it took Willis and I to drive to Travey’s location, he was causing a scene inside the liquor store when they refused to sell him more alcohol—we didn’t know that. One thing led to another and eventually the store clerk called the police. The cops showed up within minutes of our arrival, that’s what the scene looks like in the parking lot. They’ve already been made aware of a drunk guy causing a disturbance, Willis and I didn’t know that, and he’s the one who ‘was’ in the back of my car. As the scene unfolded, once Travey stepped out of my car, we didn’t have a chance. I was the first to arrive at the officer with my back facing him.
‘Ka’pow!’ He slammed me face first into the freezing cold, asphalt parking lot—‘bam!’ I didn’t have time to prepare for it, ‘boom!’ Right on my face! To this day, I have noticeable, permanent scar damage on my ear from that face plant. I heard the crowd of onlookers react with a loud and heavy sigh, obviously appalled by the officers use of force. My buddy Willis said something to the effect of “hey! You F’ing azzhole! What the F’s your F’ing problem?!”
As soon as the side of my skull was slammed against the pavement, I immediately reacted with a white privileged, born and raised in Southern California, authoritative remark. I’m pointing out “white privilege” to you because this cop is Mexican and I believe the color of my skin in combination with the privileged lingo you’re about to read only infuriated him more. I don’t remember exactly what I said but I know it wasn’t subtle. “The F’s your F’in problem you’fa king mufuker, I didn’t do ish!”
He jumped on my back. He’s now on top of me, in a kneeling position, with his knee being forcefully driven down by his body weight into the middle of my spine. He has both of my hands balled up behind my back in his hands and he’s trying to injure my fingers.
I shouldn’t have said anything else but I was so pissed off at that point, I couldn’t help it. I knew I didn’t do anything wrong. I was only there to take my drunk buddy home, neither Willis or myself have arrest records, it’s freezing cold and I’m not dressed properly to be held face down in a crowded parking lot, late at night. He squeezed my hands even harder.
I said “is that all you got you F’in crooked azz mufuker?! I bet you can’t break my hands you F’in azzhole!!” I shouldn’t have said that.
He’s right in my ear now. I can feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek, he has one knee in the middle of my back and now his second knee is flat across the back of my neck—I’m paralyzed. I’ll never forget what he said. My buddy Willis heard every.single.word but he said it quiet enough so the crowd of onlookers couldn’t hear him.
He’s whisper-mumbling, “You think this is bad mufuker, you ain’t seen ish yet, don’t say another F’in word!” He’s inches from my ear now and says “you’ll stare at the F’in pavement! I hear one more wOrd outta you and this cocaine (and shoved a bag of dope in my face), is going right in your F’in pocket, do I make myself clear you F’ing mufuker?! I’ll run your azz down to the station sofa king fast on drug charges, you won’t know wtf hit you! You’ll be in lockdown with no visitors for 6 months before you see a judge and I’ll throw in aggravated assault charges on a police officer, too, you’fa piece of ish you’ll be a’fa king felon! Go ahead.. say another F’in wOrd you F’in mufuker, I dare you! Eye’fa king dare you!!” I was powerless—Willis heard every.single.word. I didn’t say anything.
He picked himself up off of me, grabbed Willis’s hands from behind him and slammed him face first into the pavement right next to me, ‘boom!’ The crowd reacted loudly. “Neither of you say a F’in wOrd—not one’fa king word! Don’t move, if either of you move a single F’ing inch I’ll shoot you in the head—both of you!! I don’t even wanna see you F’ing breathing, do I make myself clear?! Now stare at the F’ing pavement, stare at it, and shut the F up!” He got up and walked back to his police car to reunite with his partner and Travey who’s now in the back seat. Willis and I stared at the pavement, both of us with our hands behind our backs, in the middle of a crowded parking lot in shorts and t-shirts—it’s freezing cold.
While Willis and I were being harassed and getting roughed up, the female officer booked Travey. He’s in the back of their cop car and apparently she called for a tow truck to take his vehicle away. We didn’t know that. Willis and I are still face down, staring at the pavement, trying to figure out what just happened.
Neither officer said another wOrd to us—nothing. Willis and I just laid there, face down in that parking lot, in front of a crowd for at least a half hour—arms spread, legs spread, palms wide open. We could hear the onlookers talking about how the police officer slammed those two guys down on their face and they weren’t doing anything wrong. We whispered our concerns back and forth to each other, ”what just happened? I have no idea... I can’t believe this is happening. I wonder what they’re going to do to us now.” It was so cold that night—we waited.
It seemed like forever. We were probably face down in that parking lot for another 15-20 minutes until we heard the back-up alarm from a tow truck. (beep - beep - beep - beep - beep) We couldn’t see it because it’s behind us and we didn’t dare move after this corrupt cop threatened to shoot us in the head—he already threatened to plant cocaine and assault charges on me. We heard the tow truck, it’s right behind us. We heard the operator exit his truck and receive instructions from the arresting officers, nobody said a wOrd to myself or Willis.
I heard the tow truck operator moving tools and chains around, I could hear the hydraulic lift from his truck bed once he activated it. I hear the sound of air brakes engaging and disengaging. I heard Travey’s car being loaded onto the flatbed behind us and I could hear the operator fastening the car to it—nobody said anything to us.
Willis and I laid freezing cold in that parking lot for another half hour. We knew the tow truck driver loaded Travey’s car, we could tell because the commotion behind us stopped. I heard him put his truck in gear—he pulled away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tow truck exit the parking lot, the crowd of onlookers watched him exit the lot and, right behind it, the police car followed. Both police officers, in their cruiser with Travey handcuffed in the back seat, along with the tow truck are gone now. Willis and I are still laying face down in the parking lot.
We got up. Both of us stood up, we got back on our feet and proceeded to brush ourselves off. We saw many concerned looks in the crowd of people directed toward us, nobody understood what just happened—neither did we. The two market employees rushed outside with bottled water to assist Willis and I—they’re brushing off our backs for us. They handed each of us a bottle of water, “I’m so sorry” the store clerk said, “I just wanted your buddy to stop disturbing my business, that’s all, I had no idea they were going to do that to you guys, I’m so sorry.” The store clerks watched the whole thing—they saw how we were wrongfully treated and couldn’t stop apologizing to us, “I’m so sorry! Are you ok?! Do you need anything else? I’m so, so sorry.”
We drank some water and finished brushing ourselves off. We both had to be at work the following morning, there’s nothing left to see in this parking lot and the crowd has started to disburse. Willis and I walked back to my car, started the thing up, and drove back home—the keys were still in the ignition and both passenger doors were wide open.
That cop never even asked us our names. He never asked us for ID, he didn’t search our pockets, nothing. Fact—he used excessive force in front of a crowd to instil fear in both Willis and myself after threatening to frame us for a crime we didn’t commit. All we did that night was get Travey to stop driving drunk on a Southern California freeway so we could go pick him up and get him home safely—that’s it! One damaged ear, a couple of damaged ego’s, all faith in law enforcement is now questionable and for what? Travey could’ve very well hurt himself, someone else, or worse. We didn’t even plan on getting out of the car that night—it was too cold.
People who have heard this #story all have similar comments. “You should’ve got his badge number!” I’ve heard that one a lot like it’s normal to ask a crooked cop for his badge number. “Did you get his name?!” “I would’ve got his name and reported the incident immediately to his supervisor—I would’ve had his badge!” I’ve heard it all. Sure—easy for you to say.
That isn’t the only time I’ve been treated unjustly by police officers in the United States of America, this isn’t an isolated incident, it’s not even the worst one. I’ve been robbed at gunpoint by Mexican Federales and even they were nicer to me than that LAPD officer sworn to protect was that night. Policia in Costa Rica extracted me from our vehicle and attempted to extort me on two separate occasions, both attempts were unsuccessful but, even those police officers, a couple of gems sworn to uphold the peace, were nicer to me than that cop in Los Angeles—the one who roughed us up because we responded to a friend in need, “guilty!”
When they say “why didn’t you do this or you should’ve done that” and talk about what they would’ve done if they were in that situation and how they would’ve handled it differently are talking out of their you know what. Until you’ve been in that position—face down in a crowded parking lot with a gun wielding, sociopathic man who’s sworn to uphold the law and he’s forcing his knees into the back of your neck, you’re at his mercy, he threatened to plant felony charges on you and said he’ll shoot you in the head—you don’t know how you’d react. Not saying a word, staring at the freezing cold asphalt and wondering what just happened, rather than insisting on knowing what just happened got us home that night.
Travey? He slept in LA County—Twin Towers. They charged him with disorderly conduct and released him the following morning—he was sent to retrieve his vehicle from police impound and ordered to pay all of the associative fees contingent upon his release.
That following morning I was back at work, factoring load calculations throughout the energy grid powering the greater Los Angeles area including LAPD headquarters. I was working out of IBEW LU #18 that day—an LA City employee. The authorizing signature on the bottom of my weekly paychecks was the exact same authorizing signature on the bottom of both of those police officers’ weekly paychecks—city employees, both of them, just like I was.
