Working traffic enforcement in rural Wisconsin was a slow job, most days. To meet quota, I would camp out on the Interstate on-ramps and wait for Illinois tourists who were too impatient to get up to the cabin up Nort’. Otherwise, it was pretty dull. A lot of sitting in an idling cruiser, eating unhealthy food, playing games on your phone (the bastards in IT took Solitare and Need for Speed: Most Wanted off the laptop in the center console). So, a lot of times you have to make your own amusement.

I was driving down Highway 14, heading eastbound. I flicked my left turn signal on, aiming to go to the gas station and get a sandwich, Mountain Dew, and maybe some Cheetos. A Murano Cross-Cab to my left went to do a rolling stop at the intersection I was approaching, then saw me coming and stopped abruptly. They were completely past the white stop line. This was unacceptable.

A flick of switches turned the lights and siren on, while a Scandinavian flick of the steering wheel brought the CVPI sideways - the blown Coyote I had the motor pool fit howling to be heard over the tortured department-issue Winterforces out back. I was aiming to clip the apex on this drift, and was rewarded as the bull bar up front gently removed the headlight, left fender, and part of the bumper cover from the Murano as I passed. The impact helped rotate the car as I slid to a stop perfectly behind the Cross-Cab.

I already had my ticket book out as I walked up to the window. “License and registration please, ma’am. The reason I stopped you today is a failure to stop at a stop sign and failure to obey traffic markings.” The driver seemed in shock when I walked up, but my words brought her back to reality. “You hit me!” she yelled. “Yes ma’am,” I replied. “If you were behind the white line like you’re supposed to be, it wouldn’t have happened.” Her face turned bright red at that, blonde “bitch-cut” swaying, and she practically screamed at me, “I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERVISOR.”

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A sudden winter wind rocked her Nissan and caused my jacket to billow out behind me as a grin spread across my face. A loud rumble of jake-braking echoed through the air. The driver shrank away from the window, sensing she should be afraid. When I spoke next, my voice had a deep, other-worldly timbre to it.

“Ma’am, I *AM* the on-duty supervisor today.”