The Cops Shots (or Tales of Self-Pornography)

Perhaps you will recall this photo. It's from a post a few weeks ago, entitled "I Miss Shoplifting":


This playful photo almost lead to my arrest. The threat of arrest is good fun, akin to swallowing a handful of straight pins. I suggest being surrounded by angry policemen at least once in your life. Its good for your constitution. I have been lucky enough to be surrounded by cops several times in my life, so my constitution is rock solid. Well, sort of.

I wanted a photo for my blog entry about breaking the law. Why not shoot some shots in front of the local police station, methinks. I toss my camera equipment in my truck and drive a few blocks to the nearby precinct. Setting the camera on its tripod, I set my timer and began posing quickly.

I realize my jacket was bunching up in the back, so I take another chance; I unbutton the coat a little (black bra underneath for what its worth.) Since my coat is open a bit more, I decided to take a few more risqué shots.


Why do I take PG-13 shots of myself, I wonder. Then I quickly counter with a "Why the hell not?" I can make some guesses as to why I do though. I love sex. I love sexy. I don't have much of the former currently so I have fun with the latter. I think its called compensation.

Besides, I can do whatever I want. No one to answer to. Its one of the perks of being single and kid-free. If people think I'm some narcissistic self-pornographer, then gee, they just might be right. Next week, I'll wear a burlap sack and stick my head in a bucket of wet cement in deep repentance...oh, whilst knitting.

After about 5 minutes into my police car porn shoot, I hear the precinct door slam open and three cops exit the station quickly: one in plain clothes, the other two in uniform. Here’s what I look like when I see them:


Don’t I look kinda sweet? Unsuspecting? Slightly embarrassed but certainly not afraid. This smile will only last a millisecond longer.

The plain clothes cop descends on me like an angry dog. My coat isn't buttoned all the way up and I desperately struggled to fix it. But the buttons won't go in easily and my hands begin shaking. The plain clothes cop gets all up in my grill (that's street lingo for in my face, thank you.)

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, miss?”

“I’m a writer. I'm shooting for my blog. I'm writing about [nervous laughter] breaking the law and how I used to do it more in the past and I miss it and…

“You don’t toy with cop cars, ma’am. Why is your coat open? Are you shooting pornographic shots in front of the cop car?”

“NO! No…I mean, not the traditional kind. It’s for my blog…”

“I don’t know what the fuck a blog is. Open your jacket!”

“Absolutely not.”

My god, was I going to be arrested for pornography? Self-pornography at that?! Is it a crime even? I don't know. Why am I doing this anyway? Have I become a pervert? A weirdo? Are playgrounds and vans in my future? Just how bored have I become?

By this point, I am extremely nervous, realizing that this situation is suddenly getting quite serious.

“Show me your I.D. right now”

“I don’t have it. It’s at home”

I look over at the two cops standing off to the side, both of whom I know. Why aren't they helping me? Why aren't they saying something to this guy, confirming my identity?

“I live here. I’m a writer. I needed some shots in front of a cop car. Honestly, I didn’t think it would be a big deal. Ron!”

Ron, my cop acquaintance, off in the distance, shrugs his shoulders in as if to say, “What can I do? He’s my superior.”

After much explanation, the angry cop, in the blink of an eye, switches his trajectory.

“Sure. Okay, go ahead. Finish shooting. Hey, what kind of camera is that anyway? Is that an SLR?”

Oh, it's time for fucking small talk now? Well, why the hell not? Let's just talk about my Aunt Mary Lou's famous potato salad recipe next, shall we?

“Um…no. It’s a consumer…point and…shit. I don’t know.” My hands are still shaking but my jacket is finally buttoned.

“Yeah, I want to buy something like that for my daughter. How many pixels?”

“Um...I haven’t a clue.”

“Well, carry on then.”

“No thanks.”

Yeah, like I'm going to shoot more photos after that! As I walk toward my car, I begin reviewing my shots, not thrilled with any. Over-exposed, midday light. Oh well. Keep walking, Beth. Drinking early may be an option today.

Then I think about my blog post: how I wax nostalgic about law-breaking, how being a bit of a badass is in my nature and that's a good thing. I begin to wonder if my badass posturing karmically brought this trouble on, which seems sad. Was this a case of hubris and cosmic payback? I sure didn't seem like much of a badass, that's for sure. Shaking, stuttering, scared and very unsure what to do.

It was then I turned around and said:

“Okay, I’ll continue shooting. These shots aren’t what I want.”

“No problem.”

They walk back inside, chatting, easy like a Sunday morning. (My friend who works with cops explains to me that their aggro nature is second nature to them. It can be turned on and off like a light-switch, without all that post-adrenaline jitters that the rest of us feel.)

So that was as much badassness I could muster in that moment: to continue shooting in the face of a possible arrest and angry interrogation, even though my knees were shaking and my skin was white clammy.

Here's my last shot of the day, looking a tad different:


And now for the boring but helpful informational part of my post. If there are any corrections or additions, please feel free to add. I'm not an expert in this arena, by any means:

If you are ever in a difficult situation with the police, know these points (and remember, this could be you, no matter how law abiding you are. As Socrates once put it, "Shit happens."):

• Do not, under any circumstances, physically resist the police. To do so justifies their use of force to compel you.

• Law Enforcement Officers have the right to stop and question any citizen, whenever a felony has been committed and they have reasonable grounds to believe that the citizen may have been involved in that felony. If this should happen to you, your first reaction should be to cooperate fully with the officer. This is not harassment, unless the questions asked do not or cannot pertain to any real crime (“Open your jacket!”)

• At your first opportunity, when you suspect that you are being harassed, you should ask, "Am I under arrest?" This forces the officer to inform you of your official status. If he or she does not formally arrest you at that point, then you are still a "private citizen" with all the civil rights thereof. You do not have to answer any questions or allow the officer into any premises for which he or she does not have a warrant.

• Ask the officer, "What crime is under investigation?" The answer to this question should allow you to decide whether the officer’s questions are legitimate.

• You should not volunteer information about any persons or incidents, no matter what is promised to you. Anything you say can be used against you and others, and could be used out of context to mean something you had never intended. You will not clear yourself by naming others or describing events. It is best not to say a word until you have legal representation present.

• Sometimes you could be subjected to bigotry, insult or epithets from police who feel that intimidation will get them results from reticent subjects. Do not go into shock, do not lose your temper and do not respond in kind; it will could only make matters worse. If you can remember exact words and details, write them down at the first opportunity and talk with a lawyer about whether you have adequate grounds for a civil rights complaint.

• The police may take you to the station to talk. If this happens, ask to have an attorney present. Then shut up. Don't say anything until the lawyer is there with you and speak only if your lawyer advises it.

• If you are in a public place with a multitude of neutral witnesses, like an event in a public park, you can speak a little more freely. Just remember, witnesses can work against you, too, so watch what you say and watch your temper.

• If you are at another's home when the police come in, remain quiet. Avoid incriminating your host. You really don't know what grounds are being used for the raid and you probably don't know they are innocent; so avoid incriminating yourself or others. In this case, the time to act is afterward; see an attorney.

• If in your own home and the police ask permission to come in, the answer should be "No." You should step outside and talk with them. Offer to go with them to the police station. You don't have to let them in without a warrant. If you are asked, "What do you have to hide?" simply ask "What kind of question is that?" If they are not asking to come in, but breaking down your door, give way and let them in. Don't fight them or make any insults or threats, but remember all that is said and done, make notes, and get a lawyer.

• If the officer looks frightened or angry, take extreme precautions not to do anything to startle him or make him think you are about to do him harm. This is a time of maximum risk to yourself, so be very polite and don't do anything that may be interpreted as a threat.

I Miss Shoplifting

[Play music video below at end of post before reading for soundtrack experience.]

Even though I have a mild crush on the cop up the street, I know it can never be. First off, he reminds me of Father Karras from The Exorcist and I refuse to pursue someone based on my love of a possessed priest in one of my favorite movies.

Secondly, no matter how “chummy” (as my Mom would say) we become, I know he’s packing heat and could slap a pair of handcuffs on me…and not in that sexy ball-and-gag way. In short, cops will always make me just a little uneasy.

This is because I’m an outlaw. A bandito. A troublemaker. If a sign reads, “No Trespassing” I consider it a playful dare. If a light is red and no one is around, of course I go...of course. If a bottle of pills says, “Don’t mix with alcohol,” I think the establishment is trying to deny me of a perfectly good high.

Growing up in South Jersey, I shoplifted during most of my teen years, as a hobby. My friend Vicki Franceschini and I worked as a team and were pretty damn good. (Well, frankly, I considered myself a far better thief than Vicki. Vicki was always so obvious – looking this way and that, acting cagey.)

Vicky and I being troublemakers in NYC circa 1988, right before we snuck
into 40th anniversary of Atlantic Records concert at Madison Square Garden
and had one of the best nights of our lives.

I preferred the casual technique. I’d steal earrings while talking to the woman behind the jewelry counter, sometimes even gesturing with the earrings before I’d slip them into my “never-ending sleeve.” I figured the obvious approach would always win out. I mean, who is bold enough to steal from under your nose, right?

My never-ending sleeve was attached to my favorite London Fog trench coat. It was too big for me so my sleeve acted as a vacuum cleaner, sucking up lipstick, underwear, hats, scarves, toiletries…I could even fit a few books up there.

Stealing books led me to my first bust...by my mother. She picked up my coat from the living room couch one afternoon and it unloaded itself, mainly with brand new books. It was tough to explain away. (Go ahead. Think of something, quick.) Oh, the look my Catholic mother gave me. That moment of utter silence. God-awful. (Though you’d think someone would give me some credit for stealing books and not a glass pipe but nooo.)

The second bust was pure carelessness on my behalf. I stole a pair of shoes from a little shoe store in a mini-mall the old fashioned way: put on the new shoes, place your old ones in the box then put it back on the shelf. Slither out the door. (This was before the days of sensors, etc.)

Well, I made it out just fine but made one tragic mistake. Because I was high at the time, I had the munchies. I saw a Little Caesar’s a few doors down and just had to get me some of that Crazy Bread (damn, I loved that magical mystical bread.) Waiting in line, I turned around and saw two of the shoe store managers walking up and down in the sidewalk, peering in the windows.

I dropped to the floor, which made the Little Caesar’s staff a little suspicious. I mumbled something about “feeling faint” but it was no use. The shoe store managers marched into Little Caesar’s and took me back to the scene of the crime. Again, that moment of silence. What do you say? Some things in life are hard to explain away.

Vicky and I being proper Jersey burnouts circa 1987

I don’t steal anymore. Besides, I never stole from people, per se. I was always the “steal but could not rob” type. But ah, what a good, ol’ fashioned high! After a fruitful session, Vicky and I would toss the booty on her waterbed and just lay on it all, like overfed teen animals.

Now, I try to do something rule-breaking or trouble-making at least once a week, just to satisfy the punk in me. But it’s so much tamer. Sure, I’ll still make a prank phone call for some late-night kicks. And just a few months ago, I knocked on my friend’s door and ran away, simply because I could. I’ll proclaim loudly, “You sir, are a jackass!” to a friend or stranger (works best with British accent), just to see the look of surprise in their eyes. And I've been known to lift up my shirt on occasions for no particular reason except shock value.

And if I’m ever around a sign where you can rearrange letters, I’m like a kid in a candy store.

The sign at the restaurant up the street last summer read:

COME ON IN!!
LOBSTER TAIL AND STEAK
CAESAR SALAD AND WRAPS
LUNCH AND DINNER

The first time, I had to act quickly since there were patrons in the restaurant, who upon leaving would read the simple:

EAT ME PIE!

When Ruby visited, we spent a little more time on it and added some gore value:

COME ON IN
BABY TOTS!
CAESARIAN WRAPS!

The final installment was my favorite because it left something to the imagination:

BLOW ME CAKE PARTY!
TAIL!

Breaking rules is fun and good for you. We should break as many as possible. Say outrageous things in crowded places. Make a public nuisance of yourself. Get naked, whenever. While you’re on the phone with someone annoying, do a blowjob gesture. They’ll never see it. Stop being so good. What are you trying win some good contest?

This world and the people in it are meant to be toyed with. Why would God have invented water balloons or thumbtacks? The next time someone says, “You can’t sit there” sit there anyway, grind your ass repeatedly into the seat and gleefully sing, “Oh I can, I can! Look at me! I can do anything!”

Because you can do anything. Don’t let them tell you differently.

Vicky and I breaking into her parent's "liquor room." They put a padlock on the door because of our previous break-ins but they forgot about the window. Their mistake. Looks like that's Amaretto we're drinking. Blech.

You too can get the rush Vicky and I did, back in the day, when she’d jump in my car, new jeans sticking out of her coat, yelling “Drive! Now!” Screeeeech…

When my good friend Scott leaves his grandparents house, they always say, “Drive fast, take chances.” Now, that’s a little wrong. I realize that. But the concept of "wrong" often gets in the way of a perfectly good time.

Don’t let them rob you of all the cheap highs out there. There's nothing but your own standards holding you back from true freedom.

This post is dedicated to the biggest troublemaker I've ever known, my dear friend, Vicki Franceschini (left, me to the right) who died suddenly in February, 1992 at 23 years of age. May she never rest completely in peace...it's just not her style.

(Listen to loudly for inspiration...and thanks to Ruby and The Other Beth for all of their bright ideas.)