Sunday, July 27, 2014

Touts - part deux

So, the 16 year old cop was waving the Peugeot over.  I'm immediately thinking this is a shakedown - bribe time.  I'm trying to relax, deep breathing and bracing myself for the inevitable bullshit to follow.  He asks for my license (in French - Josie translating).  Snatch! he grabs it with so much aggression that I involuntarily bare my teeth, my face going at least mini-snarl in the way that it does. 

"Registration," he spits.  Snatch!  Even quicker this time.  I couldn't see his hand.  It was like a magic trick.  I'm clenching my fists now.  I want to smash this kid.

"Insurance." Snatch! Gratefully, the third time tickled me.  It was officially ridiculous now - shark jumped - and the tension evaporates from my pores.  I simultaneously work on suppressing a giggle and formulating strategy for escaping this situation without paying.  I'm percolating.

In Nicaragua, when the police demanded that I "pay ticket" for "crossing the center line," I feigned confusion and lack of language (I had been coached).  Unable to navigate my filibuster with protocol, that cop dropped all pretense, opened up his citation book, pointed to where I should insert the money, and screamed "20 dollars!"  Charade abandoned.

"No entiendo," I persisted.  Calmly.  For maximum aggravation.  He got frustrated and gave up. Based on that experience I assume these guys can only ask for the money, but will stop short of  car detention, arrest, violence or murder.  Maybe because the money is going in their own pocket, they don't have the backing of the "system" to further pursue?

 

The kid starts babbling about how I was over the speed limit and I realize I hadn't even considered what my offense was, I just assumed I was being carjacked.  I get out of the car to sweet talk him, but he shoves the crude handheld radar in my face - it has video!  Clever.  I understand nothing.

"Non compren," I say, doing my best bewilderment.  He wants 300 dirham (30 euros).  I switch tactics.  Because I'm pissed off.  Because I'm stubborn.  Because I don't want to "lose" to this kid.  Because I can't resist the risky proposition.  I tell him I have no money, and that I would be happy to pay my fine at the police station in Esso once I've visited a money machine (Josie still translating).  I'm quite certain this is not a possibility, as it defeats the whole purpose for the stop.  Maybe I've found a flaw in their game.  Before it's even out of my mouth though, I see the potential problems I could have just created.  Maybe they'll keep my license, and I'll have to go into town, get money, and drive all the way back to pay.  Maybe they'll keep the car.  Maybe they'll keep Josie! Then I'll say, "Oh wait, I do have the money, I forgot it was in my wallet"?  Then they'll get pissed about the lying and I'll suffer for being such a smartass.  We're at a stand-off. It's a duel.  I literally turn my pockets inside out and shrug my shoulders.  His raised tone has more fear than authority - "300 dirham!"  Not exactly the Wild West. He motions me to follow, and there around the back of a dilapidated shed is his back-up.  Who knew? 

Here is the half-asleep senior officer, reclining in an official police vehicle.  The kid relays the circumstance.  He barks at me. 

"Non-compren." 

Anger. 

I reluctantly call Josie over for translating duties.

Josie: "They say you were 8 km over the limit (68k in a 60k zone: on a deserted highway: 35 mph?!) and must pay 300 dirham."  I feel a bit trapped in having to stick to my story but I'm committed now. 

"Tell him we'll happily pay in town at the police station."  I think I grin a little, cause it feels good to call out these fucking crooks.  Josie and the cop go back and forth a bit, volume escalating, body language gesticulating.  Then Josie goes ballistic.  She's through the car window, screaming in French, but I make out "fucker."  Fucker?  I don't think I've ever heard her use that word.  And.  And she pokes him in the chest!  I see myself sitting in a Moroccan prison.  It has dirt floors.  Senior screams back, hand poised on the handle, threatening to exit the vehicle.  He's pounding the passenger seat, pointing and screaming at me to get in the vehicle.  I stop and start my way to the passenger side.  Josie's telling me not to get in, the cop pounding the seat, Josie telling me not to get in, the cop pounding the seat.  I stop.  I start.  Ridiculous again.  This time I'm not giggling.  I'm seeing my life flash before my eyes.  Really.  (Turns out he did not want to take me to jail, but to take me to see the speed limit sign back up the road - nobody tells me anything.)  I bear-hug Josie and forcibly walk her back to the car.  I walk back to senior, hand over 300 dirham, sign some papers, and we're shaking hands.  He pantomimes, "Why you let your woman act this way?"  I can't even be disgusted; I'm thankful. Things mellow so quickly I get the sense this was "routine."  We're back on the road.

(The cop had told Josie, "I don't talk to women," and that was what fueled the freakout.)

Looks like there'll be a  "Touts - part three," because this day was just getting started.

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