Minnesota State Trooper

It was the best of drives. It was the worst of drives. It was the best because school was over and I was headed home. It was the worst because of what was about to happen. I am the oldest of five kids. There is a twelve-year difference between my little sister and me. Since I was the oldest, I was assigned to drive us all home. We lived out on a farm and we hated to take the bus so driving to school was the transportation mode of choice.

It was a warm spring day so we had the windows down and were doing the flying hand thing out the window. I was following a string of cars doing 55 mph down highway 25. A Minnesota State Trooper passed us going the other direction but I never gave it a second thought since I was clearly not doing anything wrong. But I looked in my rear view mirror anyway.

I watched him quickly come to a stop, spin around and turn on his lights. Wow. One of the cars I was following must have been a criminal driving a stolen car or something. As he approached from behind, I pulled over to the side and stopped to let him by. But he slowed as I slowed. Then he came to a stop directly behind me. What did I do? How could I be speeding when I was following six slow farmers looking at how fast the corn was growing? Was I tailgating? Nope. I was innocent.

The trooper got out of his car and I could see him touch his gun. Maybe he thought I was someone else. Or maybe he was going to tell me I was a great driver and give me some kind of award for safe driving. Maybe it would be a Dairy Queen Safe Driver Buster Bar certificate. Then I got a good look at him. He was the trooper that taught half of my driver’s education class. Surely he’d recognize me and know I was a model citizen.

As he came to my window he looked surprised to see my younger siblings in the back seat. I guess he couldn’t see their heads from his prowler. My brother, Tim, was seated in the passenger seat. I think he thought it was just the two of us. “Can I see your license?” he said very sternly. “What’s the problem officer?” I asked. My question went unanswered. He walked around the car as if he were looking for some contraband. He asked me to open the trunk which I couldn’t do because I didn’t have the key. This only further upset the trooper.

Then he looked into the back seat where my frightened younger brothers and sister were. “What’s in that bag?” he shouted, scaring my little sister. “What bag?” I answered. The trooper’s senses seem to be telling him I was transporting drugs or alcohol. “Let me see that bag!” he gruffly said. “Why did you stop me?” I asked again. Now the trooper was really mad. “Give me that bag!” Now my little sister was getting very upset because it was her bag. The trooper knew I was hiding something. Perhaps he was thinking, “If I make an arrest today I’ll get the Dairy Queen Super Trooper Buster Bar certificate.”

My brother Andy compliantly handed the angry trooper the bag. He quickly snatched it away, opened it up and reached inside. He pulled out one of my sister’s Strawberry Shortcake dolls she had brought for show-and-tell. He dug around the bottom of the bottom of the bag but found nothing. The aroma of the dolls now filled the car. “Is there something wrong with the dolls, sir?” I asked. Joe and Andy started to laugh. Upset, he tossed the bag back into the car, turned around and left without saying another word. I guess we were free to go. There would be no arrest today. And there would be no Diary Queen Super Trooper Buster Bar.

Just to make the nice trooper even more upset, I drove the rest of the way home about 7 miles an hour under the speed limit as he followed me. I have no idea what he was looking for or what I had done to deserve such interesting attention. Perhaps in Minnesota State Trooper School they were taught how to look for teenagers smuggling illegal Strawberry Shortcake dolls using their little sisters as cover. Or perhaps he was just some creepy trooper who got his kicks using his prowler to pull over teenage drivers and give them a hard time. But I knew for the next ten minutes as he followed me, his hands smelled of Strawberry Shortcake. I guess that’s what defeat smells like to a Minnesota State Trooper.