Great. A new phobia.

Sometimes I think we get crazier as we get older. I’d like to think the opposite is true, but alas, the evidence isn’t pointing that direction.

My new phobia kicks in whenever I get pulled over by a cop.

I don’t know if it’s our current, Bill-of-Rights-Lite administration or just age, but now when the cop stops me I am convinced it’s the Rogue Cop.  The Maniac Cop.  The Cop With Bad Information.  I imagine he’s going to arrest me, hurt me, and worst of all — handcuff me with my hands behind my back.

Why is that worst of all?  I’ll tell you.  I have severe, SEVERE personal-space claustrophobia.  To be restrained like that is simply intolerable for me.  I go crazy.  I foam at the mouth.  I worry that in that state I will not be able to effectively explain to Bubba the Unhinged Cop that I have a condition called claustrophobia and would he please consider maybe even using the handcuffs with my hands in front of my body?  Even that would be better.  I doubt Bubba will listen.  And I will just sit there quietly and have a heart attack.  Like that young man a cop arrested last year who had a bag put over his head and died while trying to explain to an unlistening troglodyte cop that he had asthma.

Does this all sound ridiculous?  Well, I told you it was a phobia.  Phobias aren’t rational by nature.

On the other hand, I assume this is what black men feel every time a cop stops them.