Quote:
Originally posted by OsOBooSTeD
boiler_room will even tell you he met an undercover when he was lost upstate in a 2000 si
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Yes and I will tell you all my wonderful story of a cop in a Turbo'd 2000 CiviC Si. The story goes as follows. I wrote a paper for school about the whole experiance.
Do actions speak louder than words? From my own experience I can prove validity to this statement. I was on my way home from upstate New York with two girls from Adelphi one weekend. I had been driving for seven hours. The muscles in the back of my neck ached. Fatigue had set in. We missed an exit and ended up heading into Manhattan.
I never drove in Manhattan before. I began to have a small panic attack. My heart began to race and the car seemed to get stuffy. Meredith rolled down a window and let the dank city air in. My throat was dry and an unsettling feeling of being lost took over my abdomen. I assured the girls that we’ll get home. I clenched the rubber of the steering wheel and bit my lip; there was no turning back now. The city became more chaotic as we traveled south towards the Midtown tunnel.
The girls pressured me to ask for directions. I was wary as to what type of person I would ask. At an intersection I heard the sound of a loud exhaust. I recognized the low humming pitch of a modified Honda Civic like it was calling my name. I maneuvered my vehicle up to his. The tinted windows of his car lowered in sync with mine. The lowered smoke glass unveiled a man with a five o’clock shadow and a thick gold chain around his neck. I informed him of our dilemma and asked him how to get to the Midtown tunnel. He beckoned back, “Follow me”.
The light turned green and the man peeled out screeching his tires on the city asphalt. I had no choice but to follow the man. It was our last resort. We traveled the city for approximately fifty minutes in the vicinity of the highly modified Honda. Jamie in the backseat became very uneasy as to where this man was leading us. Since she had been in the car for four hours, she craved a cigarette. Instantly, the aroma of a potent blend of a tobacco overtook the pristine vanilla scent of my interior.
The man stopped and turned his caution lights on. The whole operation was very mysterious. The man got out of his lowered race car and approached my drivers side door. Jamie’s nerves were calm from the nicotine. She offered to give the man five dollars for his troubles. The man declined with a simple “No”. He seemed like a very shady character who led us to the Midtown Tunnel. In the dim light the man reached into his back pocket. He smiled showing a mouthful of cavities and fillings. “I have to show you a little something” were the words that streamed from his lips. I thought it was a knife or perhaps a gun.
I thought we were going to get robbed or a hijacking was about to take place. The man uncovered a police badge that glistened under the city’s lights. I was very puzzled. “Glad to help” said the man as I shook his sweaty palm. He got back into his car and rode off into the sunset weaving his way through traffic on Second Avenue.
I have never been helped by a stranger in this magnitude before in my life. The man said a couple of sentences, but he gave up an hour of his time to lead us home. The fact that we had to follow this character for an hour left an impression in my mind. Actions speak louder than words. If this particular man had verbally told me the directions I would not have been as grateful and affected by his kindness.
