Essay: Cops and Midget Porn

Essay: Cops and Midget Porn

It’s hard to say who suggested we go to the porn shop. It was summer, in the late nineties, and several of my closest friends had gathered to celebrate a birthday. A trip to a porn shop seemed like the only reasonable way to celebrate such an occasion.

At the time, I was in possession of a large van, a hand-me-down from my parents. One of those conversion vans popular in the nineties—finished interiors, large windows, lots of seating, and a TV and VCR. The works. And since I had such a fine machine, it went with out question that, if six of us would be traveling fifteen miles to a porn shop, I should drive.
The shop was a large retail space in a strip mall, located just outside the main gates of the U.S. Army’s Fort Carson. A large portion of the store’s business came from soldiers on post. The rest, presumably, came from people like us: Groups of bored civilians on weeknight outings.

The store was very basic—a large, sprawling marketplace of adult entertainment carpeted with drab commercial flooring. The sales floor was lined with dozens of wire racks filled mostly with magazines and videos. The sex toys hung on pegs in the slatwalls running the entirety of the space. A well-appointed bondage and S&M section sat conveniently in the center of the store, the focal point being a large sex swing with a sign informing patrons it was for display purposes only, urging them not to attempt to use it in any manner.

Using inflatable dolls and large dildos as our props, we wandered the aisles making jokes about each other. Of particular interest to some in our group were the large, blow-up boobs, fully inflated, awaiting us in a wire bin. The boobs themselves were easily an F-Cup, and the inflatable object was a good three feet long in length. One member our group spent several minutes carrying the boobs around the store, swatting other members of our party as they passed by. In the midst of this lunacy, my friend Kathy had located a magazine featuring Björk—her celebrity crush—naked on a beach. It would come home with us without question.

We were on a mission beyond making jokes and assaulting friends with sex toys though. We had come in search of a movie to rent. Something that worked in a group setting, something that would entertain everyone, no matter their tastes. Indeed, a difficult thing to find. It’s the kind of thing you know when you see, and once we spotted a film staring Gidget the Midget, we knew we’d found what we were looking for. Who could pass up such a thing? Most of us didn’t even know the genre of midget porn existed, but once we did, it was clear our lives had changed for the better.

A brief discussion emerged about renting a film featuring amputees instead, but a few in the group seemed to think it crossed some kind of line. Gidget was more universally appealing. It was decided. Gidget was our girl for the night.

As we were checking out, the clerk behind the counter looked a bit suspicious of our group, perhaps even alarmed, likely wondering what kind of weirdness was in store for tonight. Four men and two women were renting a porno featuring Gidget the Midget. It likely takes a lot to creep out a clerk at an all-night porn shop, but it seemed we had succeeded.

 

Our mission complete, we filed back into the van, the midget porn and Björk magazine concealed in a small plastic bag. As Kathy claimed the passenger seat next to me, she placed the bag on the floor between two seats. Everyone else filed into the back of the van, and we soon pulled out of the parking lot, eager to get back to the house to see firsthand what kind of crazy show Gidget was going to give us.

We’d driven about a half mile down the road when the flashing lights of a police car lit up the desolate stretch of county road. We’d barely left the porn shop, leaving little chance to reach a speed higher than the posted limit. Nor was there a way to make an illegal lane change, fail to signal, or commit any other traffic violation for that matter. And all six of us were completely sober.

After pulling to the side of the road, we were soon descended upon by four sheriff’s deputies.
“Uh, what’s the problem?” I asked.

“Did you know you’ve got a taillight out?” he asked.

I was unaware of this.

Around this time, another patrol car had arrived carrying two more deputies. Right, I thought. A dead taillight definitely warranted the response of a small army of cops. It soon became clear, these cops were looking for something. The specifics didn’t matter. They would take anything they could find. A van packed with people was too good an opportunity to let pass.

In general, cops are seen as a good thing. With a simple phone call they will come to our homes when we hear a bump in the night. They provide a needed service, work a tough job, and many are good people. Others, however, love their power and will go out of their way to find any reason to assert it.

As I dealt with the deputy who was questioning me, another one had opened the side door to the van and was now collecting identification from all my passengers.

“Would you please step out of your vehicle, sir?” one of them asked me.

I complied.

He pulled me aside and examined my ID closely. “Where ya comin’ from tonight?”

“The porn store,” I said as I pointed to the store, which was plainly in sight from our position just down the road.

Surely, he already knew this.

He then asked if I worked at some club whose name I did not recognize.

“No,” I replied simply.

By this point, the other deputies had pulled everyone else out of the van and had escorted them to the front of the patrol cars behind the van. I was soon sent to stand with my friends as well. A couple deputies were on their radios—most likely running IDs through the system—while others were shining flashlights into the van in a pathetic attempt to find probable cause to search the vehicle. Finally, with their perfunctory efforts yielding nothing, one of them asked for permission to search the vehicle. Fuck you, I thought. There wasn’t anything in the van and they were grasping at straws. They had no need, and no legal right to search it and they knew that as much as I did.

Conversely, I knew that, if I were to tell him to fuck off as I wanted to, we’d be there all night. They’d probably call in dogs, and who knows what would happen then? Maybe a dog would pick up enough of a scent from a bag of weed I’d had in there weeks prior. Then we really would be there all night as they tore the van apart looking for drugs that weren’t there. Oh well, I thought. Fuck ’em. Let ’em sniff every goddamned inch of the thing. There’s nothing in there and we don’t really have anywhere to be now anyway. Gidget will wait.

My obstinacy and Irish rage grew.  Spotting this, my friend “Heath” leaned in and whispered, “You may as well let them.”

“All right.” I finally answered the cop. “Go ahead.”

Three or four of the deputies eagerly began digging through the van—opening every cupboard, digging under every seat—salivating at what they would uncover. That one little victory that would lead to their superior officers patting them on the back while saying, “I’m proud of you.” The words they’d never heard from their daddies.

They were clearly excited. What would they find? Weed? Meth? Cocaine, maybe? Or perhaps a cache of illegal weapons? I did have a couple of large knifes in a compartment under the back seat with some other camping supplies, and while they were perfectly legal, I fully expected to be hassled about them. However, no one ever said a word. Part of me wondered if this crack team of highly-trained searchers even found the compartment. The raw reality here was they weren’t going to find anything. Well, aside from a bag of midget porn that is. Poor bastards.

After several minutes of searching—hunting, as it were—the cops had begun to acquiesce they had wasted their time. You could see the total disappointment on their faces. I expected personal searches to come next, but then I noticed them putting cuffs on our friend “Jessie.” They had run her ID and she’d been popped for some ancient failure to appear warrant. Some bullshit thing related to a past divorce where she’d been pulled over for driving a vehicle that was once hers prior to the divorce, but was considered “stolen” after. It was nothing, but apparently she’d missed a court date almost a decade prior, so on this night, she was going to jail.

Once the deputies had finally yielded a little something out of the stop, they felt satisfied. Like vultures who’d circled the roadside for hours before finally finding a squirrel carcass, they were gone as soon as the meat was. Their efforts had been rewarded and now they could move on to the next victim.

They stuck Jessie in the back of a police car, handed us our IDs, and started getting back into their patrol cars. We had to flag one of them down to ask why the hell they were taking our friend. We were given a short answer that didn’t include very much detail, and just as quickly as they’d appeared, they were gone. Our group of six had become a group of five and they’d left us standing on the side of road without much of an explanation of where they were taking our friend, or even why.

“Why’d they pull us over in the first place?” someone asked.

“Who knows?” I replied.

Indeed, who knows? Maybe the clerk at the porn store didn’t like our jokes or felt uneasy and called the cops. But why? Honestly, we couldn’t have been the weirdest people to enter that store, even on that night. Could we? Perhaps, more likely, one of the cops spotted us getting into the van and figured we were a good target. Surely, if you stop a van with six passengers, you will uncover something.

And sure, they’d gotten an arrest from it, but at what cost? Most likely, they’d peeked in the bag to see Gidget the Midget staring back at them. To this day, those deputies probably still wonder what other kinds of weird, demented pornos are out there. All kinds of weird, perverted shit exists just waiting to be found by cops on a traffic stop. Horribly depraved things they’d never even imagined. Good. I hope it drove them to their pastors and priests and ruined their lives on some level.

Standing on the roadside, I soon found myself wishing we’d also rented the amputee porn as well. After seeing the combination of midget and amputee porn, those poor bastards would have gone home and shipped their daughters off to a boarding school somewhere in the Pacific Northwest in hopes of shielding them from the types of depraved pervs that clearly ruled the streets of Colorado Springs late at night.

 

* * *

 

The midget porn was on the living room TV as Heath and I searched for bail bondsman in an attempt to secure Jessie’s release. We weren’t going to let a bad experience with some over-eager cops sully the midget porn for us.

As we paged through the phone book looking at the many ads for bondsmen in the area, I occasionally looked up to see what Gidget had gotten herself into now. It was intriguing, but some of the camera angles were a bit odd. Kathy noted the large size of the male midget’s penis, something all of us had to admit was impressive. It wasn’t all midget-on-midget action though. At one point, a full-sized man was pounding Gidget the Midget as well. What a shame, I thought. Jessie would enjoy this.

Even with such madness on the TV, it didn’t take us long to find a friendly bondsman willing to help. We’d managed to catch a bit of luck, too. The bondsman told us that since it was a small bond, she didn’t even need collateral.

The process of freeing Jessie was underway, but we still needed to go meet the bondsmen in order to sign some paperwork. This, of course, meant that we would have to leave in the middle of Gidget’s performance. It was probably for the best. She’d already had sex with nearly a half dozen people and I’d lost track of any sort of plot. Besides, really, how many people could she fuck before it became completely gratuitous?

When we got to the El Paso County jail, the sun was just beginning to rise, illuminating the Rockies to the west in a glow of dark red. The air was cool and surprisingly fresh, given that the wastewater treatment plant was just down the road.

We found the bondsmen just outside the main entrance to the jail. They’d already been inside doing the paperwork necessary to get Jessie released. They had us sign some things and assured us that it wouldn’t be long till she was out.

After exchanging small talk with them for about fifteen minutes, Jessie finally walked out the front doors. She looked rough. Tired, mostly. Luckily, she hadn’t been there terribly long, but she’d been there long enough for them to process her fully. To strip her down and make her feel like garbage all because some cops had a slow night. Granted, she was at fault as well. She should have cleared the matter up years ago, but at the same time, none of us had done anything illegal that night and my passengers should never have been checked in the first place. Yes, my taillight was out. Fine. Give me a ticket and send us on our way. But in the end, the cops got a “dangerous” criminal off the streets before she could strike again. I’m sure the good people of Colorado Springs slept better that night. But hey, when you wander the streets for years with an outstanding warrant, surely you know the risks. This was bound to happen some day, and I’m sure Jessie knew that.

By the time we got home, everyone else was asleep and the TV was black. No more Gidget the Midget. Shit, I thought. I don’t even know how it ended. Maybe it was for the better. Ambiguity is often a good thing. I’m sure Gidget lived happily ever after.

Eventually, Jessie went to court, did some community service, and before long, everything was cleared up. When the rental period on the midget porn ended, we returned it without incident.
But hopefully, somewhere in the great state of Colorado, there is a sheriff’s deputy who’s now afraid to look inside unmarked plastic bags for fear that decadent and perverted things he never wants to know about may be lurking inside.

 

RML
Possum Hollow
September 2013