Speaking of judging based upon how we look....
Setup: My senior year of high school (1987-88) I was working in a restaurant. And there would be times when I would close and be going home as late as 2 am or so. And in this town at this time, there was a curfew for anyone under 18. I was 17 at the time. The curfew did not apply to people who were working past curfew with their parents' permission, if they were just going home from work.
Situation: I am bicycling home from said restaurant around 2 am one fine evening, dressed (as I often did) in ripped jeans and a rock concert shirt. Styx, as it turns out. Basically looking like a typical stoner.
Young Cop pulls up next to me and asks me to stop. I did.
YC: "How old are you?"
ME: "17."
YC: "You do know there's a curfew?"
ME: "Yes, I do. I was working, and am heading home now."
YC: "Where do you work?"
ME: "[My restaurant.]"
YC: "And your parents know you were working tonight, and coming home this late?"
ME: "Um, of course."
YC: "Well, the reason I pulled you over is not so much the curfew thing, but we've had some robberies and vandalism around here lately."
ME: "And what does this have to do with me?" [Cop was friendly, I knew I could smart off a bit.]
YC: "Well....I saw the way you were, um, dressed, and..."
ME: "So you're pulling over slobs tonight?"
YC realized I had a point, and we had a good laugh about that. Turns out he liked Styx, and we spent a little time talking about them (as that was the rock shirt I was wearing). Then I went on my way, and he on his.
Lesson: The way I choose to dress does not reflect on my criminality, thank you very much.
Setup: My senior year of high school (1987-88) I was working in a restaurant. And there would be times when I would close and be going home as late as 2 am or so. And in this town at this time, there was a curfew for anyone under 18. I was 17 at the time. The curfew did not apply to people who were working past curfew with their parents' permission, if they were just going home from work.
Situation: I am bicycling home from said restaurant around 2 am one fine evening, dressed (as I often did) in ripped jeans and a rock concert shirt. Styx, as it turns out. Basically looking like a typical stoner.
Young Cop pulls up next to me and asks me to stop. I did.
YC: "How old are you?"
ME: "17."
YC: "You do know there's a curfew?"
ME: "Yes, I do. I was working, and am heading home now."
YC: "Where do you work?"
ME: "[My restaurant.]"
YC: "And your parents know you were working tonight, and coming home this late?"
ME: "Um, of course."
YC: "Well, the reason I pulled you over is not so much the curfew thing, but we've had some robberies and vandalism around here lately."
ME: "And what does this have to do with me?" [Cop was friendly, I knew I could smart off a bit.]
YC: "Well....I saw the way you were, um, dressed, and..."
ME: "So you're pulling over slobs tonight?"

YC realized I had a point, and we had a good laugh about that. Turns out he liked Styx, and we spent a little time talking about them (as that was the rock shirt I was wearing). Then I went on my way, and he on his.
Lesson: The way I choose to dress does not reflect on my criminality, thank you very much.
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