Ellington

The other day I was reading the letters to the editor of The Clarion-Ledger. This isn't a new activity. I will admit, I usually boot up the computer in the morning and pull up the C-L opinion page just to read a few lines and remember where it is that I actually live.

Recently, I've been following the series of articles concerning the Madison County Sheriff's Department using "racial profiling" when placing roadblocks within the county. I've read with interest the points made by the "Concerned Citizens of Flora," and then I've read the letters in response. After a short contemplation concerning refilling my prescription for Xanax, I decided I really needed to say something about it.

I don't mind giving the approximate location of where I live—because I will soon be leaving it for a beautiful home in Jackson—but it's down that highway that goes to the town beginning in "F" and ending in "lora." And to you great people living out there, I only have one thing to say: I feel your pain.

My friends get tired of all my yelling about the frequent roadblocks I endure simply to get home, the numerous and annoying roadblocks where officers ask questions like, "Where are you going?" and "Where do you live?" to which I usually answer, "Why the hell do you need to know that? Do you want to meet me there and have a drink?"

I'm kidding. The first question is usually the only one that actually gets asked. What follows is more often than not muttered. This is so I don't get taken to jail. I don't like jail. My good Catholic mother made sure a good healthy fear of jail was instilled in me at a very young age. But despite that, random "official police business" invasion of my privacy pisses me off in a way I can't articulate—at least not in words that wouldn't put me in jail. So I usually curb my smart mouth and smile a lot. I find smiling a lot puts cops at ease. I guess because they hope it means you aren't going to kill them.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate police. I hate the system that is in place that makes it OK for those police to park a half mile from my home and check my ID before I'm allowed to enter my driveway. It makes me indignant. It makes my eyeballs pop out and my ass itch. I can't begin to explain all the ways it bothers me.

Mostly it's when I realize that I am rethinking the decision to leave my own home for a 9 p.m. mad dash to the convenience store for a pack of peanut M&Ms. I'm rethinking this decision because there is a 50 percent chance this "dash" will turn into a drive where I am forced to wait in traffic two miles long, produce my license, and tell the nice man: "Yes, I was buying chocolate at 9 p.m. in my pajamas. Is that a crime?"

Sheesh. Curbing my smart mouth is only getting more difficult with age. I'm pretty sure this means I'll probably talk myself into jail before the age of 40—accidentally, of course.

It also doesn't help that for the past few months I was driving with an expired car tag and inspection sticker. So then there was that to deal with. I've since taken care of both of them, but before, it meant that going to get M&Ms involved the possibility of going to jail. I don't want to go to jail for M&Ms. If I didn't go to jail for that Swedish exchange student in college, I sure ain't doing it for a pack of peanut M&Ms.

Sometimes I actually stay home. I just decide the damn M&Ms aren't worth it. In fact, if I run into those nice deputies again—and I'm sure that I will—I'll be sure to thank them for my butt once again fitting into my skinny jeans.

The one thing I will say is that I usually suffer no real ill effects of these roadblocks. In the past few months when I've been caught by them, I silently sit and endure the traffic, offer my license and try to keep my mouth shut.

I can't readily say if they are using "racial profiling" or not. But the past three times I've driven through these roadblocks, I have had an expired tag, an expired inspection sticker, and I'm pretty sure my eyes were dilated from all the Benadryl I'd been taking to curb the itching from the flea bites I'd incurred the previous two weeks. And, to top it all off, I was smiling like a freaking Moonie, and the interior of my car looks like the inside of an after-school special on a crack house.

And they let me go.

There isn't a single time I get home from enduring this useless endeavor when I haven't screamed at my boyfriend, "Thank God I'm white!" as soon as I walked through the door.

Previous Comments

ID

75539

Comment

Christ. I was hoping to be completely moved out of Madison before this ran. :) I'm totally taking the back way home for the next three weeks.

Author

Lori G

Date

2007-11-15T10:52:06-06:00

ID

75540

Comment

Interesting, Lori. You'll be alright. The late, great comedian Moms Mabley says she got a pulled over in the 1940's while driving drunk and running red lights down south. She said upon being asked why she was running the lights, she said "officer I saw all those white folks going on green; so, I figured the red one must be for us. Being white has its privileges in certain locations, times and situations! By the way, a white man cursed me out in Flora back in 1974. Madison-Ridgeland High School where I graduated from was playing East Flora High School. The state of Mississippi and County or whomever else were supposed to give money to East Flora High School, an all black school, and Madison Ridgeland, a mixed school but mostly black, alike was discriminating against East Flora and apparently they didn't have a working tractor to cut the baseball field. The grass was almost up to our knees. I came up to bat and got a hit but couldn't find first base because the grass was so high. Consequently, I got thrown out looking for first base. When I looked around all my teammates were laughing and coach Rogers soon commenced to cursing me out. In other words, I had a bad experience up there too. Coach Roger is a soma_____.

Author

Ray Carter

Date

2007-11-15T15:39:48-06:00

ID

75541

Comment

Sorry, Lori. We needed a column. ;-D Like the headline? It may be our most provocative ever. Hopefully, people will read to the end.

Author

DonnaLadd

Date

2007-11-15T16:02:27-06:00

ID

75542

Comment

Yes, HOPEFULLY people will read it through until the end. HOPEFULLY Lori won't get arrested in the next three weeks. There will definitely be a "Free At Last" themed house warming party when I officially leave! ;)

Author

Lori G

Date

2007-11-16T11:05:05-06:00