There are some amazing cops out there for sure -- those who've helped me up when I've slipped on the street during a rainy day, those who've given warnings instead of tickets, those who've smiled and wished me a good day.But let's be frank, there are just as many that - high or drunk on power - make it a point to puff out their chests and never fail to remind you who's got the key. Because, you know, they're in charge. Luckily, you can't actually get arrested talking back so I've escaped most of my negative police interactions relatively unscathed. And it's not as if I do anything to provoke police, usually.
It also effectively sparked the contrarian in me.
Because, you know, there's always more you can do to piss someone off.
So I snuck past the barriers with a messenger bag full of stickers I then proceeded to plaster across the bus stop in front of the Hilton. The agents standing outside the Hilton glared at me, pursed their lips, looked me up and down, eyeballed my stickers, shook their heads... I smiled at them graciously, offering them stickers demanding the UN hold Ahmadinejad accountable for human rights abuses. I even shook the hand of one of the agents, while he stared at my horrified.
Apparently the NYPD didn't appreciate this act of defiance against the new order dictator, because they politely requested I take my stickers and leave. As I ducked under the security tape, it started to rain. Torrentially. Down-pouredly. But I was so adrenaline filled I don't think I noticed for a few minutes.
I skipped happily away from the Hilton, back to the other protesters across the street, in my tiered black skirt, bright green "Free Iran" shirt, and same messenger bag. I felt lighter as I re-joined the group, maybe because I'd indulged the feelings of resistance. Or maybe, and more probably, because I'd used up the stickers in my bag.
