A/N~ I just love humor. This is dedicated to my peers who seem to provide me with more laughs everyday. I just have to write about it, there's humor in everything if you have the right attitude...

Chapter 1

"Unit with Traffic...?"

One can't help but wonder when you're sitting on the side of a busy interstate watching cars speed about the two types of people. I remember specifically the words of my Field Training Officer.

"There are two types of people in this world...those who run and those who chase. Which one are you?"

Ah, a customer already. I look down at the Doppler radar on my dash as it emits a loud squeal followed with the numbers 82. That would be the little red Ford there in the far left lane overtaking traffic. Well...he sticks out like a sore thumb.

With a smile that only playing with the vast array of toggle switches and speed can bring, I purposely crank the wheel of the car applying the gas at the same time, effectively bringing the car around from its southern position.

The greatest part of the motion is the fact that I have mastered informing the violator right off that he has, in fact, been caught in the act by tracking his vehicle perfectly with the front end of my car.

Seeing the violator tap his brakes makes my heart dip a little. Though most traffic officers live for the issuing of the ticket, I just like to chase. We'll talk about the ticket later...

Seeing that he is beginning to slow down some dampens my spirit a little more, so I ease up off of the gas a tad, merging with the highway traffic from the service road. Slipping behind some of the slower traffic, I let him run a bit before pulling into the left lane. He's a few cars ahead of me, so I might get to chase a little.

Seeing the traffic melt away before me and giving me a clear line of sight on my violator's rear bumper definitely increases my cheer somewhat. I live to chase. I think that somewhere along my line of past lives...perhaps I was a dog. Don't ask me how I greet people, it could be frightening...not to mention a little disturbing.

Increasing my speed, I close in on my pigeon. He changes lanes, without his blinker, possibly hoping that I'm after someone else. With a sigh, I change to his lane and activate my lights.

The transition is amazing. I can almost hear the thought..."Holy sh!t...it's the Police! Now what?!"

He seems to be deciding on whether or not to stop. I keep thinking, "Run! Run! Run!"

In the end, however, my violator pulls off onto the shoulder...this time using his blinker. "Well, you had your chance I suppose."

After notifying my dispatcher of my location and providing the plate and vehicle description, I approach the car and make contact with the violator.

"Driver's license and insurance?" I ask. I try to keep my tone neutral, I hate to make something like this personal when it isn't.

The man looks at me like I have sprouted a second head. "Excuse me?" he asks, somewhat rudely.

"Driver's license and insurance?" I ask again. There is no excuse for you.

The expression remains. He looks all the world like an angry turtle. I've never seen one, but if I had, I would definitely say this was what one looked like.

"May I ask what I've done?" he inquires, not at all sweetly. I interpret the hidden meaning. 'You stupid pig, wasting my time...'

"Driver's license and insurance?" I repeat. I hate to repeat myself. Wastes time and any number of these cars flying past us at 70+ would sure love a target like me...'50 points for the pig!'

"You're rude." he replies removing his seat belt and fishing his wallet out of his pants pocket. With a sigh that is greatly dramatized, he produces a rather well-worn license.

Without a word I take it and glance at the last name. Why can't I ever pull someone over with a pronounceable last name? Fourteen letters at least. He looks at me expectantly.

"Insurance?" I request.

With yet another sigh, he mumbles something beneath his breath and reaches for the glove compartment. A stack of papers erupt into the passenger side floorboard and I have to fight to suppress a shudder.

While he entertains himself with rifling through the vast assortment of tax returns and birth certificates, I glance at the registration sticker. Expired. Sucks to be you.

He finally produces the card. "Sir this expired three years ago." I point out the date to him. He looks exasperated. Funny that someone that has just broken about fifteen traffic laws would seem so inconvenienced, but there you go.

"You can call and verify it." he replies with a wave of his hand. With a non-committal shrug I look at him.

Stupidity is not against the law...you are free to go.

"Do you know how fast you were traveling, sir?" I ask.

"Seventy-something?" he asks. Seeing the look on my face, he rethinks the question. "Seventy even."

Let's make a deal...Thanks Monty!

"Do you know what the speed limit is?" I ask him.

He looks down at his speedometer and shrugs. "Seventy?"

I have no clue, but if I stare at my dashboard hard enough it will all go away...there's no place like home...

I point out the speed limit sign that he has managed to stop in front of. I know that look. The large black numbers of 60 on the broad white sign are definitely eye-catching up close. Strange how you miss it at 'seventy- something'...

"You were traveling 82 in a 60." I reply neutrally. He looks back at me and I can see that he is going to argue with me. "You also failed to signal your lane change. Your registration is also expired, as is your insurance."

"I told you that you can call the insurance company." he retorts.

"You are required to show current proof of insurance upon demand. It is your responsibility." I reply. His ears are red. "Do you have warrants for your arrest?"

He is quiet. Okay, not good. I would hate to have to spend an hour off of the highway in book-in. The jail smells like week-old ass and feet.

"Do you have warrants for your arrest?" I ask again.

"Not to my knowledge." he replies.

Translation: Yes but I'll be damned if I'll admit to it...

Right. "I'll return in a moment, sir."

Checking the traffic and keeping an eye on my violator, I return to my car. After running the regions through my dispatch, my violator returns with several warrants out of several agencies, not to mention about thirty lines of previous history.

Remind me when you're on the highway so I can conveniently not drive to work that day...

After informing dispatch to hold on confirmation of the warrants and a half a book of citations later, I re-emerge from my vehicle to re-contact my violator.

I can see his face in the side-view mirror. He scowls at me and then has the nerve to roll his eyes.

'Oh reeeeeeaaaaaalllllly? Well, in that case...sucks to be you.'

"Sir, how do pronounce your last name?" I ask.

"Pferhungesuhenze." he replies.

I have to pause on that one.

"Sir, would you step out of the vehicle please?"

"Why?" he asks.

"Sir, step out of the vehicle before I pull you though the window."

It's not personal for crying out loud.

He opens the car door and I direct him to the back of the car. I move him off to the side of the road and direct his attention to the citation book that I am holding in case he didn't notice it before.

"You have multiple warrants out for your arrest." I state. He looks at me like I have a virus. It could possibly be a feigned look of innocence. Perhaps he's a method actor?

"I paid those tickets." he replies in shocked outrage.

"The court does not agree with you apparently." I reply. "What is your home number?"

He looks at me in confusion but supplies it.

"Who's your employer?" I ask.

Again that look. "What's that for?!" he practically shouts.

With a sigh, I look up at him and cross my arms in front of me.

"To be quite frank, sir...these are obviously going to go to warrant. I need this information so that, when they do, I know exactly where to go in order to find you." I reply. He looks somewhat abashed, so I continue. "Your employer, sir? Please provide a correct address as I would love to serve these in front of everyone thereby humiliating you completely..."

He provides the information and I write it down on all four citations. My hand is aching and I am beginning to wish he would have been at least civil during the first contact. I would have cut a break on the majority of them...maybe.

After filling out the information I begin my routine again...

"You need to sign here by the 'x'. This is not a plea of guilt...it is a promise to appear..."

"I'm not signing that." he interrupts me. I hate to lose my roll...I've already wasted twenty minutes on this guy...

"Sir, don't tease me."

He supplies a startled look at this. "Excuse me?"

"Should you decide to not sign these citations..."

Not wise...

"You will be immediately arrested and subjected to cruel and unusual punishment..."

A wailing crazy lady that is currently strapped down in the book-in that says things that would make even the most hardened construction worker blush in shame....

"Unfortunately the judge will not be on hand until Monday..."

Three days away...think about it bud...

"And the jail smells like ass."

That part is true actually...

"It's your choice." I finish presenting the citation book to him, along with a pen.

He takes it and scrawls his name across it, shoving the book back at me. I motion to it.

"There's four more copies there." I reply.

He finishes signing his name to the remaining three and adds, "You suck."

Presenting him with his copies I smile and add, "Only on Thursdays."

*************

The "Only on Thursdays" remark is directed towards the joke...'You're going to hate Thursdays'. Stay tuned- next up: Court and air-bag assisted Judges!