Me? A Problem With Authority? No Way, Mate

Think back to your last encounter with a cop over a routine traffic violation.

Were you on your best behavior?

Or were you like Woody Allen in “Annie Hall,” in which he’s asked to produce his driver’s license, and as he does, he begins tearing it into little pieces because, as he explains to the officer, “I have a problem with authority.”

Decisions, decisions. You get pulled over, and the wheels start spinning in your head.

“ Do I want to take this guy on? He looks pretty gullible. Has a man ever gotten out of a ticket by crying, and could I, under the pressure of the moment, actually pull off a good fake cry?”

Usually by the time you sort that stuff out, he’s already writing the ticket.

Such weighty matters pop to mind after getting a letter from Rayner Garner of Laguna Beach, who says he takes lots of walks and is disappointed that his friendly greetings to police usually are met with stony silence. Garner makes it clear that he has a high regard for police and an appreciation for the rigors of their work, but he wonders why the officers seem so cold.

In his native England, Garner said, “the police enjoy a very affable relationship with the majority of the public. . . . For most of my generation, it is still instinctive if a policeman is seen to be outnumbered or in difficulty, to go to his aid, whatever the risk to life or limb.”

He recalled an incident in which armed robbers killed an unarmed bobby outside a jewelry store. Several citizens tackled the gunman, Garner said, and in short order a businessman hit the felon with his briefcase before being shot himself, and a “little old lady” whacked the guy with her handbag.

Whether that incident speaks to the native courage of Britons or their innate affection for their police is anybody’s guess, but it’s hard to picture that scene unfolding on any American street. I think a heartfelt “They went thataway!” is the most involvement any American cop could reasonably expect from a bystander.

So, why don’t we love our cops? Is it them? Is it us? Is it those mustaches?

Part of it is bad vibes, and it apparently doesn’t stem solely from the masses to the police. As evidence, I submit excerpts from a recent issue of Bottom Line Personal, a twice-monthly consumer newsletter published in New York.

The newsletter interviewed Anthony V. Bouza, identified as a former police commander in the Bronx and retired Minneapolis police chief.

Some of Bouza’s observations: “When you’re dealing with the police, it’s not just a matter of what you say, it’s how you say it, how your attitude comes across. You must move beyond normal politeness. Indicate that you recognize the officer’s power and authority and that you’re bowing to it.”

That also sounds like excellent advice for any husband.

Bouza goes on: “Police don’t like defiance. They interpret it as an assault on their authority, and they respond to it. This is not the time to assert yourself. Challenging the officer’s authority is a prescription for disaster.”

If you’re pulled over while driving, Bouza says, “sit perfectly still with your hands on the wheel. Don’t reach for your wallet or into the glove compartment. Wait for the police to approach you. Roll down your window and say, ‘Yes, officer, what can I do for you?’ ”

I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t possibly say that with a straight face.

I violated just about all of those suggestions the last time I was pulled over. Not only did I not sit perfectly still with my hands on the wheel, I got out of the car immediately and approached the officer. And I sure didn’t ask what I could do for him; rather, I said, “What’s the problem?”

That probably sounded confrontational and a challenge to his authority, but that’s his trip. (See, that’s exactly the kind of bad attitude Bouza is talking about). Anyway, the officer cited me for not displaying a valid registration sticker (although when he discovered from DMV that I’m current, he said I could get off without paying a fine). But then, he wrote me up for not wearing a seat belt.

That old familiar sizzle on the back of my neck started forming, but I said nothing.

But now that I’ve heard from Mr. Garner in Laguna Beach, I was thinking how much more cooperative I’d been if the officer had been British and said the following:

“Hi-ho, old chum. I dare say, puttering about without that bloomin’ sticker, eh, mate? What a pity. Well, carry on, and strap on that harness, shall we? Cheerio.”

Now, that’s an officer I’d chase a fleeing felon for.