The Subtle Art of Bribery

My son called me today to entertain me with a humorous story. It reminded me of days long ago and the way things were back then .

Back in the 70’s and 80’s, I was a cop. In those days we weren’t the stereotypical donut munchers for which the cops of this era receive the bad rap. Yes, we had some on the force who would arrive at the local Dunkin Donuts precisely at the time DD was ready to discard the four hour old supply to make ready for the fresh new donuts. Those greedy bastards would walk away with dozens upon dozens of glazed and chocolate pleasures free of charge.

We in those days had our minds set on booze. Now that the Statute of Limitations has run, the truth can be told. The minor in “Possession of Intoxicating Beverage” was our salvation. On a warm summer night I could sniff the air and tell you which car full of teenagers was carrying that liquid gold. They would be stopped for some minor traffic transgression and the trunk was popped to reveal that pirate’s booty. Given the alternatives, arrest or confiscation of the contraband, it seemed that they were always of clear mind to opt for the latter. I even had one driver when stopped notice that it was “Officer Dan” and simply alighted from the vehicle, removed the demon rum from the trunk, placed it on the curb and then got back in the car and drove off. Must have been a satisfied return customer.

Back to my son. He was driving in an area foreign to him and made the mistake of turning right on red where it was forbidden. Lights flashing and sirens wailing, he was pulled to the side of the road. The officer approached and the usual ritual ensued . License, registration, and proof of insurance. Explanation of the violation. Very professional up to this point. My son has a penchant for chocolate long johns and I remember when I drove him to school, we had to have them for the morning trip. Naturally a bag full was in plain view on the seat with the aroma of the doughy chocolate filling the air. Like an air freshener once served the purpose in a pothead’s car. My son immediately sensed his way out. He politely turned to the officer and said, “Hey man. You want my donuts?” “Sure,” without a flinch.

The officer returned to the patrol car with the bag of goodies. Ran all the necessary license and criminal background checks from the DOR to the FBI and all initials of agencies in between. After assuring that my son was not wanted for some heinous crime in Fargo, No. Dakota, he returned to hand my son his license and bid him a fond farewell. My son noticed a slight chocolate drool from the corner of the officer’s mouth.

So, if you plan on driving up near the Airport, stop at Krispy Kreme first. It’s cheaper than a ticket.