A Roadside Stop

“Sir, I’m going to have ask you to step out of the car, please.”

“Your face should step out of the car!”

Officer Paquet sighed. “Sir, please step out of the car.”

“Why, why do you need me out of here?” the man said. His eyes were unfocused, his nose red, and his arms were a little larger than seemed healthy for a human. Paquet wondered if it was steroids, synthol, or, least likely, legitimate muscle.

“Because you were swerving all over the road. I need to give you a sobriety test,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Now, please step out of the car.”

“I don’t wanna.” The man folded his arms like a petulant child. A petulant child with a very unhealthy body, Paquet thought to herself.

“Out of the car sir.”

“I don’t have to!”

“You do. When requested by an officer of the law to take a roadside sobriety test, you are required to exit the vehicle.”

“No!” The man reached down to put the car in gear.

Paquet unholstered her gun, keeping it at her side. “Sir, take your hand away from the shifter. Turn your vehicle off. And step out.”

The man looked at her, then his gear shift. Back to her. Back to the shifter. Then he put his hand on the keys and turn the car off, before stepping out of the car. As he did, he tripped, falling on the road beside Officer Paquet, and started giggling.

“I fell! I fell! Ha!” he said, rolling back and forth.

“Well, that makes that clear enough. Still, please blow in here.” Paquet waited for the man to stand, then put the breathalizer to his lips. She called on her radio for someone to come pick up the man’s car. He put up no resistance to getting in the back of her cruiser, but kept giggling. What was so funny, she couldn’t tell, but at least he had gone easily.


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