Today at around 5:30, making my way to the recording studio, I was pulled over after making an illegal left turn. It was an honest mistake, one of those 4-7pm deals you have in LA. But honest mistakes usually still cost an arm and a leg and cause all kinds of grief. The officer, a courteous-but-no-nonsense African-American motorcycle cop, already had four other unfortunates waiting for their curbside judgement.
So he takes my license, and maybe gets a quick glimpse of my "01" artist's work Visa. He then tells me to wait "until he's dealt with everyone else". Getting a little bit edgy here. Why am I so special? It takes about 10 very long minutes to give everyone their tickets, then upon returning to my car, with my license, he asks:
"So what do you do for work here in the US?"
"I'm a musician".
Pause.
"Well, how did I know that?"
Alright, I'm ready for a car search, plus impound, or at least a $300 ticket at this moment. Instead he hands me my license back and tells me he will let me off without a citation today. Unreal. I'm mumbling something, a lot actually, about how much I really, really appreciate this and put the car in gear, as he leans in ever so slightly and says "Rock on my brother".
Shit! Really? I mean how can I not abide by the law now and do exactly as I'm told tomorrow. Album sessions start in the morning, and I've been ordered to rock.
That is a great story! Rock on
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