I knew why arrogant teenagers got shot by cops. A sour mug and restless demeanor are all that’s needed to put a cop on edge, especially if the cops in question are first-year cadets, inexperienced in wielding authority but desperate to prove they can. This kind of cop is like a guy with a small dick trying hard to convince himself and the hot blond that he can get the job done. And when he can’t, everyone must feel his wrath.

Lack of confidence in an authority figure is palpable and invites provocation. Why? The only thing worse than having to submit to authority is admitting that it exists over you in the first place. Any sign of weakness in said authority is immediately targeted if only as a way of asserting one’s own agency. But since openly challenging authority is not without its perils, indirection is key. Even body language can suffice to expose, foreground, and amplify an authority’s self-consciousness, while seeming completely benign.

I stared at one officer as he radioed into dispatch, my ID in his hand. He was barely 5’6″ and no more than 140 lbs. He was the aggressive one, trying to give me the drill sergeant act: “Where are you off to in such a rush? The city? What are you doing there? Drinks? Just drinks, huh?” Like I was supposed to crack under the intense pressure of his glare and blurt out that I’m actually on my way to a multi-million-dollar gun-smuggling sale, and, oh by the way, I have a kilo of uncut heroin in my backpack. He’d be awarded some cracker-jack medal and promoted. He’d be patted on the back over his excellent police work and intuition. Douche.

He stared at the ground as he tried for a second time to make contact with the dispatch. Just one punch, I thought, just one punch to the side of the face, the side not obstructed by his radio and he would go down. He might even spill onto the train tracks. His head aslant, he’d never even see it coming. I looked up at the ceiling of the Bushwick Ave – Aberdeen Street Station, still tickled by the idea. A smile blossomed on my face. It must’ve unsettled the larger cop, his partner. He was the quiet one – doughy-faced, bow-legged, along for the ride. I looked at him, trying to suppress my smile, and asked why this couldn’t have been done on the train. He stepped back as if uncertain about what I might do, “It’s…uh…dangerous on the train. It…goes..this way and that way. It’s better to do this on the platform.”

I slowly brought my hands over my head and watched his uneasiness. I felt a thrill. If I was going to be late for my rendezvous, why shouldn’t I have a little fun at their expense? This officer was just doing his job to collect a paycheck and maybe earn a little prestige with a prime collar or two, handled strictly by the book of course. He wasn’t the cowboy type. He knew it and didn’t care to convince anybody else otherwise.

The smaller cop wasn’t having any luck getting in touch with dispatch. His partner kept asking him if he was on the right channel. If I had any doubts that these guys were rookies, they were gone. I began asking obvious questions and accompanying each one with some unnecessary gesture: gripping the straps of my backpack with my thumbs, crossing my arms, widening my stance and rocking back and forth. Every time, the bigger officer squirmed.

I shoved my hands into my pockets for lack of anything else to do and felt a full-spasm yawn coming. I contracted every muscle, unwittingly pushing my fists deeper into the pockets they were already in. I saw the larger officer’s eyes widen in a mild panic. Before he could utter a sound – and more importantly, before he could reach for his gun – I told him that I just was getting my phone.

Another L train pulled into the station. I was the attraction for everyone on their evening commute home. Three gorillas in particular were interested in what was happening with me and got off the train. I couldn’t believe they’d be so amused by this that they would actually get off the train. They weren’t. They were plain-clothes officers. One of them was wearing a Jets’ jersey with “Law” printed on the back. I figured that’s about as clever as a cop gets.

After scowling at me and greeting their own, they decided reception would be better on the mezzanine level of the station, so we all went for a walk. Another uniformed cop just happened to be coming down the stairs into the station as we were coming up the stairs. The new addition gave me a dirty look and greeted his fellow cops. Twenty-five minutes into my detention and I was surrounded by a total of six cops. I sat on a wooden bench, just past the turnstiles as the cops fiddled with their radio. Everyone who swiped their card at the turnstile had to walk past me and six cops, and everyone looked at me in disgust. What must I have done to warrant having a squad assigned to me.

What did I do? I walked from one train car to the other.

At Broadway and Junction I galloped through the obstacle course of a station to switch from the J to the L. Seeing the L idling at the station I took the last flight of stairs at a leap and got on. I knew I had to be at the front of the train, so I went from one car. at the heels of another straphanger who was in a similar predicament. I had been aware of others behind me also going from car to car but thought nothing of it.

Walking from one train car into the other. The plain clothes asked how long they’d been trying. They were shocked to find out that it was almost half an hour. They told the uniform new jacks that when this happens there is no reason to hold a person, just write “system down for 1075W” on the summons and send them on their way.

The plain-clothes walked back down and onto a train. The one uniformed cop went back to his beat. The original two cops who had stopped me were deflated. Nobody had to call them rookies, my bemused smirk said enough. I sat there for ten more minutes as Tweedle-dee and Tweedledumb wrote their first summons. Flipping through their leather encased notepad, they fumbled around, double-checking to make sure they’d filled in every field. All of a sudden, surprised, the little one turned to me and said, “Hey, your ID is expired.” It sounded as much like a question as a declaration. I responded as curtly as possible, “You just noticed that?” He avoided eye contact, returning my ID and letting me go.

Back on the train and late to meet up with friends, I sat at the end of the train car with the summons in my hand and watched person after person walk between the train cars as a cop stared idly in their direction from the middle of the train car. I smiled. It helps to have a healthy appreciation for the absurd when you live in New York. It also helps if you can take pleasure in the little opportunities for mischief that present themselves, like fucking with rookie cops. But be careful, premature ejaculation for the tiny-penis cop is even more serious outside of the bedroom because the gun is his cock and you’re that hot blond that didn’t know when to stop. And no amount of Kleenex can clean up that mess.