Busted?


Friday, June 18, 2004

Federal Election day, is looming and the campaigns are heating up. Suffering a late start, I finally got mine into gear after spotting Werner Schmidtís campaign office in the old CKIQ radio station building, next to Canadian Tire, on the main drag going through town. Itís a phenomenal location, fronting onto 6 lanes of traffic with a wide median to separate the north and southbound traffic.

Werner, our incumbent, has served 3 terms so far. Itís been repeatedly said, now, that Wernerís a nice guy but he hasnít done much. His office is more than familiar with my concerns so I would have to concur. Before I set up, I couldnít resist dropping in for a moment to inform them of my intentions. I was rudely received.

Thanks to a generous contribution from a wonderful gal who can ill-afford it, Iíve been able to make additional signs and I used these extra signs to decorate my truck. One reads,

SUPPORT
WHISTLEBLOWERS

I also bought a sports whistle ;-)

I started out on the side of the of the road, my sign supported in my electricianís tool-pouch, parading back and forth, waving, blowing my whistle and shouting, "Support your local whistle-blower (tweet-tweet) Honk for justice! - Ho-onnk for justice!"

I was doing my best to solicit honks, using hand gestures to mimic horn-honking but I was quickly becoming more and more dissatisfied with my with my position, the expansive median in the middle of the highway beckoning louder and louder, drawing me to it. Not 10 minutes had passed before I jay-walked across, taking advantage of a brief lull in traffic. Sure enough, the view was abundantly more strategic...
"Support your local whistle-blower (tweet-tweet) Honk for justice! - Ho-onnk for justice!"

About noon, a gal came out of the Rogers AT & T store, next door to Wernerís office, beckoning to me; "Come on, Dave, Iíll buy you lunch." she insisted. It turns out, I know her. So I jay-walked over to her at the next lull in traffic, thanking her, graciously as I accepted.

"David", she said, "that whistle of yours is so-o-o loud, itís deafening. We canít even think in there!" I apologized but deferred to my urgent concerns, asking her to take hers up with Werner. Sheís a good-natured gal, agreeing that mine is a worthy cause. While she never attempted to use the free lunch offer as a "carrot" to coax my silence, I suspect that she may have been trying to buy her co-workers a momentís peace. Of course, after our hasty fare, I got right back at it.

About 3 p.m., deciding to wrap it up for the day, I popped back into Wernerís office with a proposition. If they could give me a reason why I should move my campaign over to another candidateís office, I might take them up on it. I was met with further rudeness by one staff-member in particular, Dave, who informed me that he is a former RCMP officer, having once been in charge of this entire area. He was Superintendent Dick Smithís boss, back around 1995, so he said. So I asked him, "Who washed Mindy Tranís clothes? Who gave the order to wash them?"

"That was a mistake. You make mistakes donít you?" he shot back, defensively. "Sure", I said, "but I wouldnít launder DNA evidence."

When I asked him again if he could offer me up any valid reason why I should move my campaign, he insisted that he couldnít even hear me. "Guess Iíd better get a bigger whistle", I said. "See you tomorrow."

That was Tuesday.

On Wednesday, Dave Lindsay, "The Unlicensed Man" called to say that he was coming by and wanted to know if I could help him out with some errands. I told him what Iíd been up to and how Iíd assured the folks at Wernerís office that Iíd be by for another performance. Dave agreed to join me there if I helped him out, after.

I was pleased to have some company so we met in front of Wernerís office, Dave going in for a short chat while I set up and took my position on that expansive median...

"Support your local whistle-blower (tweet-tweet) - Honk for justice! - Ho-onnk for justice!"

After Daveís chat inside, he joined me outside, strolling up and down the side-walk, sporting a

SUPPORT WHISTLEBLOWERS

sign with
WWW.RWNICHOLSON.COM

on the flip-side...

"Support your local whistle-blower (tweet-tweet) - Honk for justice! - Ho-onnk for justice!"

"Let Werner know that you care about justice! - Ho-onnk for justice!"

About an hour of this and a cruiser pulled up next to me, stopping in the farthest left, south-bound lane - the fast lane. The officer inside told me that I was impeding traffic-flow. I ignored him...

He got out of his squad-car, insisting that I was impeding traffic and that if I didnít remove myself from the "boulevard" he was going to arrest me...

"Support your local whistle-blower (tweet-tweet) Honk for justice! - Ho-onnk for justice!"

"Hey Dave", I hollered over to Dave Lindsay, "he wants to arrest me." "What?" Dave replied, hollering back over the noise of the traffic. I repeated myself and then turned and explained to the officer, "Heís my legal counsel."

By the time I turned back to see what Dave was doing, he was just stepping onto the median. The cop, Constable Warren Bains stepped in front of me and put his hand on Daveís shoulder, informing him hat he was being charged with jay-walking. He asked for Daveís name but Dave refused to tell him so he arrested Dave and told him to get in the cruiser, opening the back door and guiding him in. Dave didnít resist.

Perplexed, I grinned at Dave, shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders. "Now what?"

Constable Bains turned back to me, ordering me to get off the median, instructing me in detail, to walk down the median to the intersection and cross at the light. I tried to explain that I was waiting for instructions from my legal counsel but he cut me short, placing me under arrest for "obstruction of justice". When he ordered me to get in the car, I laid face-down on the median - (tweet-tweet) - "Honk for justice!"

Constable Bains stepped back out of the cruiser, keeping me informed of his every move, "Iím placing the hand-cuffs on you now." "Iím assisting you to your feet." I refused to get up. "Ow - Ow! My back, my back!" I hollered, as he picked me up. "Iím putting you in the car now..."

As we pulled away, I told the constable that I had thousands of dollars worth of computer equipment in my truck and that it was not locked. "I have the right to protect my private property!" I insisted. Constable Bains pulled into the left-hand turning lane at Leckie Road, intending to turn back to lock my truck up, I assumed.

"Whatís your name?" he asked me. "Iím the 'Our Courts Suck Guy.'" I replied.

"Iím feeling kind of sick;" I told him; "I might throw up in your car. Could you please roll my window down?" Constable Bains complied with my request.

When constable Bains had put the hand-cuffs on me, he failed to notice the whistle in my hand; it was still there. Even though I was hand-cuffed behind my back, I managed to get the whistle to my mouth. (tweet-tweet) - "Honk for justice!" I shouted out the open window as Constable Bains waited for an opportunity to make his left-hand turn. He looked a bit embarrassed as Dave and everyone with-in ear-shot chortled and chuckled. "Whereís your truck?" he asked, sounding a bit irritated.

I repeatedly explained to Constable Bains, exactly where I parked my truck, painstakingly describing it, decked out with my signs, surprised that he hadnít seen it when he was arresting us. He told me that heíd never seen me, my signs or my truck before and that heíd been in Kelowna since 1995. I said that for a cop, he had lousy powers of observation.

When the constable finally spotted my truck, he parked in the Canadian Tire parking lot and shut off his ignition. Then he opened his car-door, explaining that he was coming around to let me out of the squad-car. Opening the door, he asked me to step out. "Iím going to take the hand-cuffs off, now." he said to me. Having un-cuffed me, he ordered me not to leave the parking-lot; he still had to write up my citations. As he took my signs out of the trunk of the cruiser, Dave said his name.

"Did-ya hear that?" I exclaimed. "What!" Not sounding as much a question, as it was simply a reply, indicating Constable Bainís waning enthusiasm at having to put up with my impertinence. "He said his name!" I shot back.

Constable Bains had removed the signs from the trunk of the cruiser and had turned his attention to Dave, releasing him from the back seat of the cruiser. Minutes later, the constable was behind the wheel and Dave was looking for a pen so he could begin taking notes. Dave is meticulous about taking notes.

A few more minutes went by and I was beginning to get bored. Spying my signs laying on the pavement behind the cruiser, I decided to put them somewhere where theyíd be more useful but I was having problems getting them to stay propped up. Finally, I decided to simply carry the "OURCOURTSSUCK.COM" sign...

"Support your local whistle-blower (tweet-tweet) - Honk for justice! - Ho-onnk for justice!"

Every couple of minutes, Iíd glance over to appraise our "legal" situation. Dave was still busy scribbling notes and Constable Bains was still sitting in the cruiser, consulting with who-ever. After several such visual appraisals, I wandered back to make inquiries. Dave told me to give the constable a bit of distance; "Itís private." Dave explained of the constableís consultations. I went back to the side-walk, still taking care to conduct my visuals, every couple of minutes.

Not too much later, on looking back, I was surprised to see a second cruiser and constable. I returned to the parking lot to engage this new representative of justice.

"Good afternoon, officer. Have you been to my web-site, yet?" "No." he replied. "Why not?" I asked. "Itís just bull-crap." he retorted. "How would you know if youíve never even seen it?" I challenged. "Itís probably bull-crap." He countered. "Bull-crap - like that pile out next to the highway by Leathead Road?" I fished. "What do you mean?" he bit. "In front of the stock-yard." I set the hook. "Thatís a pile of bull-crap - this is a web-site." I corrected him. My web-site has allegations of criminal wrong-doing and youíre a police officer. Your duty is to investigate allegations of criminal wrong-doing, of which my web-site is chock-full of, along with the evidence!"

It was clear that this peace officer, a hereditary member of Canadaís First Nations, Constable Fred Coon of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police had no interest in exercising his duty anywhere it involved any allegations that I might care to make. I turned my attention back to the afternoon traffic, satisfied that I had nothing further to benefit from Constable Coon.

"Support your local whistle-blower (tweet-tweet) - Honk for justice! - Ho-onnk for justice!"

After several more visual checks to determine our progress, "legally", I was further surprised to discover, yet another police cruiser on the scene. We were starting to draw the beginnings of a crowd. Ambling back, I was pleased to see that the third constable was more affable than the second had been.

Constable Bains was wrapping up his "business" with Dave when another party arrived at the scene. It was the automotives manager from Canadian Tire. The third officer turned to him and asked him if he wanted us off the lot and he said, "Yes."; so Coon and this latest police presence started to order us off.

I objected, vehemently. I was there on the specific instructions of the first officer, ordered not to leave the parking lot, as he still needed to cite me! Further, Iíve been a customer in good standing at Canadian Tire for nearly twenty years; I have a Canadian Tire credit card and Iíve spent, literally, thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars there! "I have a good mind to cut my card into pieces and send it to your head office, along with a written explanation for my actions." The manager, Terry Musgrave, told me that it was my card and I could (hyperlink)do as I wished with it.

So Dave received a ticket for jay-walking, carrying a $26.00 fine, which he promised to take to the Supreme Court of Canada, if need be and I got nothing (except a ride around the block in a police car). I felt slighted, more by the position of Terry Musgrave, the automotive manager of the Canadian Tire store but none-the-less, returned to the ďscene of my crimeĒ the next morning to take up my position once more on the median, vainly trying to re-create these events, described, above.

Yours very truly,

David-Hunter: Thomson
725 Franklyn Road
Kelowna, British Columbia V1X-3T9
Ph: (250) 765-6826
c.c. et al
P.s. Forward at will.
d.h.t.


C'mon along on more adventures with the OurCourtsSuck guy...

Back to Our Courts...

My Horror Story

Evidence

Another Horror Story

Threats

Politics

Addendum

Divorce Court is an Industry

Howard Berge Avoids Impaired Charge

Bushman of the Shuswap

Pedophile Protection Program?

Where Do Missing Children Go?

A Tale of Two Lawyers

Pig in a Poke

Karl-Heintz Eisbrenner - the Brouwer/Kuiper Case

Authorities

WCB, Attorney General and Others, Acting in Collusion, Fraud and Other Shenanigans

Revenue Canada Caught in the Act

Eddy Haymour's Plea to the Queen

BookStore

Take a Trip & Never Leave the Farm

Buy My Signs

From the Desk of a "Mad" Man

Email Your B.C. MLA

Email Your MP

Email Your Senator

Links