Then Chavias came around and opened up the back door to the car. He looked at me like he was the experimenter and I was the subject. This mans presence bothered me a lot. I don't know if you, who are reading this have ever come across an individual like the one I am trying to describe, but he is not pleasant at all. He simply intimidates, is controlling and is almost unbearable to be around. Everything he said to me was said in a disrespectful manner and one that was of total subordination. Leaning into the car, his face almost touching mine he looked at me directly in the eyes. It was the kind of stare that was uncomfortable to look at yet I knew that this was what he wanted me to do. This situation was getting worse and I didn't like it at all. He then asked, "have you ever been to jail? Have you ever been arrested before? You might be going to jail you do know that don't you? This is not England here ya know? Do you use drugs? Have you used any marijuana or speed lately?" I, of course answered no to all of the above as that was the truth. But I wondered why he was so persistent on trying to prove something that simply wasn't so?
Next, he pulled the shirtsleeve back on my right arm. He looked like he was searching for track marks along my veins to see if I was a drug user. Not finding anything he proceeded to take my pulse. To be where I was, I can only tell you it was a very, very uncomfortable feeling as I stared into the steel bars that were in front of me in that car. My main fear was not knowing what was next. Was I going to go to jail on some charge or other that these two authoritative figures were going to put on me. Was I even going to get beaten up, I mean there were no witnesses to say otherwise. Being in the back of that police car in the middle of the street was intimidating enough but having done nothing wrong and being treated the way I was, "after the fact that they had found no weapons or drugs on me whatsoever," was total harassment in my opinion.
Chavias' eyes were cruel, that is the best way I would personally describe them if asked. He had told me to look directly into them and to keep a fixed stare until he said so. I presume this was to see if I would get distracted or not, which I would imagine a person who had been drinking or who was on drugs probably would. This was a very uncomfortable thing to do.
"128, that's a high pulse," he said, looking at me like he was the domineering principal of some school and I'd been the little kid who'd just been caught doing something wrong. "I've just had a cup of coffee and I don't drink it that often," I replied. This was immediately followed by, "so if I took you down to the station and asked you to give me a urine test, your telling me that it will come out negative, are you?" "That's correct," I said. In my head I'm thinking, 'what is this guys problem? What in God's name does he want and what is he after?' I was being treated like I was some kind of hard core criminal who'd been on the run for years and who they'd just caught up with.
His next line of attack was, "you might be going to jail with all of those ID's that you've got back there, ya know." This was said with the same stone cold face that he'd had since this interrogation began. He was referring to my library cards to which I have about nine. I felt like saying, 'since when was it illegal to have various library cards on you at any given time.' Then his next question came, "do you travel a lot?" to which I replied, "yes."
I was then told to get out of the car. Maicas informed me that I was going to do a test. He asked me to stand in front of him and tilt my head back, close my eyes and count to thirty in my head. Once I reached thirty I was to open my eyes and look at him. Before this happened I asked if I could retie my hair tie and put my hair back in it again as parts of my hair were blowing in my face. His sympathetic response to that request was, "that doesn't matter." I felt like saying, 'well it matters to me and that's why I'm asking!' I completed the test as asked, without any problems.
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