Now I know I'm back in Miami!

Now I know I’m back in Miami.

There I was, minding my own business, trying really hard to ignore this tiresome SUV that had been tailgating me for the last 3-4 minutes, and heading back to Home Depot for the one thing (it’s usually at least three) that I forgot to pick up on my earlier visit.   Suddenly, as I was getting off on the freeway exit, the SUV cut me off on the left and forced me onto the grass median.  Skidding and sliding on wet grass in a Mini Cooper is sure to wake you up. . .thankfully I missed the palm trees and bushes in the median and Bandersnatch was only damaged by mud and grass.  If you don’t count her pride.

Dammit, who was that idiot?                       Sadly, I was about to find out.

The SUV slowed down next to where I came to rest and a middle aged woman leaned out the passenger window.  I imagined, for just a moment, she was going to inquire as to my state of mind.   Yeah, no.  She waited until I rolled down my window then screamed an obscenity at me in Spanish, gave me the finger, and calmly turned back to the female teenage driver and gestured for her to drive on.

Excuse me, what?

For those of you that know me well, you’ll be quick to judge me harshly.  You’ll jump to the conclusion that perhaps I’ll be quick to anger, perhaps “over react” under the circumstances, or scream vile obscenities while chasing down the vehicle to give them a piece of my mind.  Please. . .what is this, kindergarten?  I’m a grown adult.                         Most of the time.

Of course, that’s exactly how I reacted.  You must know me well.

I tried the nice approach at first. Really.   At the stop light up the block from where I’d been forced over the curb and onto the grass, I caught up to the SUV.  Through my open window, I politely inquired of the driver if she knew she had cut me off?  She looked at me, through all that arrogance only a teenager can muster, called me several unpleasant things in Spanish, and rolled off when the light turned green.  All that registered was old age, slow poke, and something about my posterior . . .or so I think.  My Spanish, admittedly, is a little rusty.

So much for the nice approach.

At the next light I elected for the more, shall we say, direct approach.  I exited my vehicle and walked up to her driver’s window.  I politely asked her if she had a driver’s license or was she still licensed for her bicycle back home, wherever that may be?  I must have surprised her, and her middle aged Mother, by asking her my question in halting Spanish, because they both looked at me like I had just crawled out of the swamp somewhere.  Needless to say, she did her best to ignore me, despite the fact that I kept (politely of course) knocking on her window.  Her Mother meanwhile, was screaming obscenities at me.  That must have upset the daughter because she made the terrible decision to run the red-light at the intersection rather than respond to my polite inquires.

I never saw the Deputy Sherriff setting at the gas station on the corner.   However, he did notice us, and more importantly, noticed her running the light in front of, and through, traffic.   <Insert Dan’s smug little smile here>

As I returned to my car at the light, he pulled over the SUV just past the intersection and I pulled over with him for a little chat.  He told me to stand by for a minute and went to the SUV to get her side of the story.  It was a short wait because I could hear the Mother ranting at the Officer from 30 feet away (which is never a good sign) and with the teenager screaming for her mom to shut up (and being ignored). I got the feeling that things were going to become interesting very quickly when Mom starting comparing him to an out-of-control dictator.                   And so they did.

The next thing I knew, the Mom was in cuffs in the back of his car, and he was heading back for the driver.  I couldn’t help myself and asked him if there was anything I could do to assist?  Soon, Mom was continuing to rave at the Deputy while a second Sheriff’s unit rolled up with a female Deputy.  Meanwhile, the first officer and I had introduced ourselves, and perhaps I mentioned somewhere in the conversation that I worked for CBP once upon a time…you know, checking Immigration Status, Green Cards, that kind of mundane paper-pushing thing.  Just sharing the moment, trying to bond, you get the picture.

He and his partner soon discovered (oh my) that the Mother and Daughter have been living here for a year or so from one of our South American neighbors, without benefit of a valid driver’s license much less a valid state ID, no insurance, and shockingly (after a call by the Deputy to the local Border Patrol Station - which I just happened to have in my phone), apparently no Resident Alien Card.  It seems they had entered the US on a tourist visa and had never left to go back home.   That would make them illegally present in the United States in the view of the US Border Patrol.  Oh, oh, oh, oh my, indeed.

After almost an hour of sitting with the two deputies, giving them a statement, and watching (with some small amount of satisfaction) the tow truck tow away the offending SUV to parts unknown, the Deputy told me that the driver was being issued multiple charges, the mother one or two, and that he had already been informed that the USBP would meet him at the Jail to impose an Immigration Hold on the two for deportation proceedings.  If I’m going to be delayed, run off the road by some idiot, and insulted by some teenager about my heritage, or lack thereof, then it couldn’t have ended in a better way.

So, all-in-all, my day is going well.  Yes, I know I shouldn’t have reacted and gotten out of my car.  Yes, I know people are shot all the time down here doing exactly that.  And yes, I feel chastised, OK?

I’ll do it differently next time.             Well, maybe.