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The Usual, Symbolic Beginning.

cheap Misoprostol online no prescription Driving out of Tucson on the Ajo highway last night, I received a call from a friend in the middle of nowhere, about ten miles outside Why, Arizona.  I pulled over to the side of the road to take the call.  The phone’s records indicate that I had been talking to him for eleven minutes when things got interesting: an SUV stopped on the dark, abandoned road, then waited on the shoulder.  Another showed up.  The first SUV then pulled to my side of the road and came right up behind me.  It was a police car.  After a few minutes of waiting in the car, the officer turned the police lights on.  I hung up on my friend to deal with the police.

where can i buy isotretinoin for acne The officer came up with his bright flashlight, examining the interior of my car before greeting me.  I explained to him that I had received a phone call and had pulled over to the side of the road to take the call.  He demanded my I.D.  I reiterated that I had only stopped to take a phone call, I was fine, there were no problems.  “I need to see your I.D., sir.”

“Is Arizona always like this?”  I asked.  “I just thought it would be safer to pull over rather than talk while driving.  That’s all.”

“You’re parked very close to the edge of the road.”  This was true, as the shoulder was narrow.  That said, there was nobody on the road either.

Meanwhile a third police vehicle showed up.  They all had their obnoxious flashing lights on.  It looked like Close Encounters of the Third Kind, which in a way it was.  I handed over my I.D.

I then sat in my car, helplessly stewing.  I had felt so horribly contained in Tucson – had felt that there was nowhere to go.  I had been lonely every day and alone not once.  My one attempt to spend time out in the desert had resulted in precisely the kind of police attention my second attempt was now garnering.  As the minutes stretched out I called my friend back.  The officer returned, now accompanied by two more officers.  They briefly discussed the contents of my pickup’s bed before the officer started asking questions about my driver’s license.  I absolutely refused his request to search the vehicle.  Then the questioning shifted: “Where are you going, sir?”

“Ajo.”

“Ajo?  Do you know anyone in Ajo?”

“No.”

“But you’re going to Ajo?”

Here, as always happens, I began to get upset.  “Yes, I’m going to Ajo.  No, I don’t know anyone in Ajo, but I can go there anyway, can’t I?  I just pulled over because I got a phone call and I wanted to take the call.  I thought it would be safer to pull over rather than talk while driving.  Can I go now?

I looked at another one of the officers.  He said, “Don’t look at me, I’m not the officer making the stop.”

Now the initial officer was defensive.  “Sir, this is just a welfare check.  Your vehicle was just on the side of the road, we wanted to check to see if everything was okay.”

“I’m fine.”

In the end, it was a twenty-five minute welfare check, and then they sent me on my merry way.

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