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Under the Sun Cynthia Oi |
Letting little things slide
is damaging in long runIT WAS late, more like early morning really. There were no cars moving along King Street as used to happen long ago when Honolulu was smaller and slower paced.
A bunch of us had finished a marathon of studying and writing papers during finals week and pooled the few bucks we had in our starving-student wallets to share bowls of wonton min at an all-night chop suey house. Stomachs full and eager to hit the sack, we piled back into my old Plymouth Valiant to head home.
The shortest route to the apartment where one of my passengers bunked would be to take a right out of the parking lot and another right up a cross street. Only problem was that a right onto King Street meant driving the wrong way on a one-way street.
We had lots of good reasons -- OK, excuses -- for the illegal deed. The cross street was less than 25 feet away so we'd be going against traffic for only a few seconds. We were whining-tired from cramming for five or six days straight. Abiding by the law would force us to double back. The road was ghost-town empty. No one would see us, no one would know.
I flicked on the blinker and stuck my arm out to make a hand signal, as if obeying those rules would nullify breaking another. We looked right. We looked left. The coast was clear. I pulled out, turned the corner and there, in full law enforcement glory, was a cop.
Busted.
The police officer looked stern as he pulled out his ticket pad, but after peering through the windows at our scared faces and weepy eyes, he laughed. Regaining authoritative demeanor, he checked our IDs, asked what we'd been up to, where we were headed and other questions I can't remember. He gruffly lectured about skirting traffic laws and the possible consequences, from serious accidents to getting a ticket. He let us off the hook, but followed us all the way home. He watched as we scurried from car to elevator, waving good-bye as the doors closed on us.
Thinking back on the incident, I believe that the cop was more concerned for our safety than about our potential for negligent behavior. He wanted to make sure this gaggle of weary-bleary college girls were tucked in for the night. He was engaged.
A few weeks ago, I pointed out to a policeman what seemed to be a dangerous situation. An industrial-size trash bin had been left on the street, very close to an intersection. Dark blue, it was hard to see in the early morning hours. Cars that turned the corner had to swerve into the oncoming lane to avoid hitting it.
The officer acknowledged that the bin was a hazard, adding that he'd seen such bins left on streets "all over town." However, he said, "we haven't gotten any complaints," that it had not been brought up by any supervisor.
Well, heck. You'd think as a public safety officer, he'd take it upon himself to correct the problem without having to have a complaint lodged (Wasn't my gripe good enough?) and without a boss telling him to get on it.
Maybe police officers these days are terribly overworked, as officials contend, that there aren't enough of them to deal with the serious crimes much less secondary ones like red-light runners, speeders and thieves at the Blow Hole.
But when you start letting the small stuff slide, scofflaws tend to get bolder. Exceeding the speed limit by 10 mph without getting tagged gives drivers license to go even faster. Squeezing narrowly through on a yellow light without penalty leads to the more audacious behavior until red doesn't mean stop anymore.
Police presence deters lawlessness, keeps the heavy-duty bad guys at bay. At the same time, a cop around the corner spurs generally law-abiding types to think twice before parking illegally. I don't think my traffic infraction would have lead to a life of crime, but I sure don't ignore one-way signs.
See the Columnists section for some past articles.
Cynthia Oi has been on the staff of the Star-Bulletin since 1976. She can be reached at: coi@starbulletin.com.
