Metal tapping glass only means one thing when you're sleeping on the Pacific Coast Highway: wake up for a pat down.
"Is there a problem, officer?"
"Where are you headed to this evening?"
"Santa Barbara, I stopped to take a nap after a lengthy phone call [can't talk on the phone while driving in California]. Is there a problem?"
"If I searched your car, I wouldn't find anything illegal, would I?"
"No, sir. And although I do not consent to a search, I'm not going to try to stop you."
"Would you mind stepping out of the car . . . I'm going to pat you down for weapons."
"I just want to let you know that I have a handgun in the car; disassembled, unloaded, and locked in the rear compartment, all magazines empty, in full compliance with California Gun Transportation law. Here is my permit, just in case you need to see it."
"They hand those out pretty easy out there in Texas, don't they?"
"Yeah, I guess, but it seems to be more trouble than it's worth."
"Well, I'm going to go ahead and search your car because I smelled marijuana when I was walking around your car, and that gives me probable cause."
"Yes, there is medical marijuana in the car. I am a medical marijuana caretaker - my papers are in my wallet."
He topically searches entire car with his flashlight. Meanwhile I chat with his partner, away from the vehicle.
"How long have you been in California?"
"Oh, about a month, now."
"Well, go ahead and get yourself some in-state license plates if you're going to smoke on the side of the road."
"Yes, sir."
"Have a safe night."
When I got back to the driver seat, I just about shat myself: the officer had neatly laid out pretty much all of my personal belongings on my front seat, as if trying to not inconvenience me.
I drove and am now sitting by the beach, enjoying a 2AM breeze. FREE
Man. Talk about a diamond in the rough.
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