I wasn’t having the best day. This was several years ago in May of 2008. My wife was just diagnosed with diabetes. She went to her doctor’s appointment and said, “Why don’t you get yoursel a coke and meet me back here in 45 minutes?”. She always thinks of people like that! So I left the Physician’s Pavilion wing of the enormous OHSU medical university campus on the city hill.
I walked up the breezeway and walked straight to the elevator while dialing my phone. I had a question for my wife. At the same time, quite overtly interrupting my attempt to make a call, shaven head security cop that is just for Oregon’s OHSU hospital was acting weird on the elevator at floor 9. He said in a Southern accent, “Phone don’t work on the elevator.” He seemed displeased when I said, “Oh wow, I think it actually go through” and I hit the 8th floor button and got out to get better reception. It looked vaguely familiar- the adjacent lecture hall. My dad was an MD. A graduate of OHSU. He died in 2002, so when I think of the best doctor to see my wife? He still seems to be in the OHSU campus. On the net, too.
(Let me take a sec- okay if you google, “pipe organ dr. gene giesbrecht”, that will tell you about what he did to our house. Geez. I should blog on THAT.)
So that cop- I later looked up pictures of the OHSU security standing behind President Clinton when he visited the OHSU campus in the previous year. I think the egos of the officers were still swollen by how awesome it was to stand behind Clinton. I looked them up because this is a story about law enforcement psychopathology. In this case, psychopaths- crew and boss. Sworn officers, not mere “rent-a-cop”. Say that and they’ll bust-your-chops!
So anywayyy, I got out at floor 8. The cop had just said cell phones don’t work in elevators. So I got out on 8. I was still on the phone with wifey. I took the flight of steps down from 8 to 3. I like echo-ey stairs. I did that when I was up here as a kid. Its not restricted. Most doctors would say, “Hey, that’s good excercise!” So I got out on floor 3 to get to the food court and get a super expensive soda. I started down the hall and a man says, “Are you lost?”.
I turned around and I saw Southern diamonds of lynching in his eyes. The man, the uniform, bald head. He had said cell phones don’t work in elevators. He wasn’t allowing me to use the stairs. He laughed that I did. They are totally public and I was a bit lost without my wife at my side. The world has predators. I was about to be hunted and didn’t know it.
But I knew that I knew that this cop was evil. “Evil” is “live” spelled backwards and this sworn deputy, with a look I could tell he did not want to help me. I felt a stress field telling me: “Get your drink and go to your wife. NOW. But do not hurry. Just go 3rd floor, up and over and get away from this guy. He might try to do something illegal to you”.
I got my coke. I told the cashier a security guy was bothering me. No response. Abandonment. My PTSD was triggered. Floor 3 is below the Earth with no exits.
So the cop didn’t like that I took the stairs. Later I learned that he was calling ALL campus security, described me as a terror threat with a cell- and that I was Arabic (I am Swedish and had a 6 day beard).
I got in the elevator alone. I felt total relief. Man. At floor 9 lobby, logic would say to keep going. But I asked for help because I felt I was about to get dogpiled. I was. I looked to my right and I saw the back of Baldie’s head, dressed all in SWAT black and gold badge. Pretending not to look interested, he seemed “prederotic”- getting off on FEAR.
So I went to leave the 9th floor Main Building. I passed through doors. There is a glass hallway there, and a breezeway to the outside. I wanted to get to the Physician’s Pavilion where my wife was being seen for her diabetes. 100 yards away.
As I walked, I “turned my back ON”. If you have PTSD, this means CAVU vision, maximum peripheral, maximum audio and the power of hell to do anything. A turtle on its back turns and stomps out 4 holes. Ow!
I walked to the next door, I saw Baldy walking behind me in the door’s glass reflextion- and gaining. I saw him radio, unnaturally calm. Acting like he was lion hunting. I got into the lower West end of the horseshoe-shaped 5-story pavillion. So in all, so far, I had been pursued ¼ mile. The cop was imagining up I was guilty of stuff in his “prederotic” mind. So then… time… slowed… down…
Now my memory is choppy because high stress makes for skippy facts. This next part took about 25 seconds where I ended up having this guy beat along with 3 other cops. With their super it makes 5 on 1.
25 seconds ’til turn over, folks!
To start, I glanced over my shoulder and he wasn’t there. I listened at 400%. (I don’t know if I was being video monitored now that I think of it. But you can’t VIDEO CONTROL a person. Remember that, all you video game players. In a game you have nothing to lose.)
I look to my side, proceed, relax my breath.
I put my breath in a mode.
21… 20… 19…
I peered ahead- “Left hall unknown. Right hall known. Too clandestine. I could get beat up in there.
But if I go in, I can run.
Innocent scared people run
I am not scared
I am not scared
I am not scared
I am hell, born in hell. An infantryman position rotation option.
Walking North. Position myself near my wife.
9, 8, 7…
Dial… but DO NOT SEND 911
His boots behind you. Stop. Be calm. All shields off.
5, 4, 3…
Turn around n’ tell him, “You (you) know I had 911 on speeeeed (speed) dial because of you…
Back 10 seconds. Okay- go:
I exited the North door and knowing he was behind me. I never ran. I stopped. I dialed 9-11 as I walked. And to get the FIRST word, EXPOSING the conspiracy without seeing or hearing it, I said,
“I have 911 ready to dial. Its because you are following me and I don’t appreciate it.”
He laughed like a WWII poster boy, arms akimbo, and all his Mu Thai Aikaido gun range skills were not applicable. Like I’ve said before, I like the whole samurai mindfulness thing. There WILL be a day you must fight but can only speak.
He said, “I want to see some I.D.” I looked behind me and another security cop (They are sworn officers, but not City of Portland policemen). I said, “Yeah, I’d like to comply, but I have a legal right to speak to your supervisor before doing anything.” I was kind. He looked defeated. Game over.
I looked behind me and other officers were in the bushes, hiding behind posts. Its not the samurai. I said, with hands up in the air, “Really guys? Ninjas rock. You’re surrounding me?”. Patients walked by and I hid inside my apparent self.
Bald cop got on the radio. I called my wife’s cell. As it rang, I shamed them lightly. Hahaha. I said, “Oh my God… this is so embarrassing.” My wife answered. I said, “Hi Bu, security has six officers on me. They don’t believe I’m with you. or let me go.” My wife said, “Whaatt?!?!”.
Oh man were those security guards taken by suprise!! My wife came down like My She-Ra sniper. She was there in 60 seconds. I just watched my baby pick them apart and felt a deep sense of Deepak Chop ’em up joy!
Then Mr. Man, the supervisor showed up. He was hard to read. An ex-Portland cop. Why not a city cop anymore? I think maybe his heart wasn’t in it.
He made a crack about “We don’t look like terrorists” with a laugh & said, “Are we good?” “Sure,” I said, not sure what that was but his boys did walk away disappointed. Sorry girls. Don’t mess with me. “WE” don’t look?
You see, I’m not Arabic. But my wife is. That’s ugly.
After that, I decided I wanted to talk to an OHSU counselor. We were told to wait at ER. To sit. Mr. Supervisor came in! “Hi again! (jerk).” He had a slinky crouching walk that only a nervously violent man would have. What a way to psyche people out. In front of other patients he told us it was over- to leave. That kind of intimidation, sitting next to my wife and leaning into her air space was too much.
I said, “Get away from my wife.” He said, “You can shut up and leave.”
My wife told him off. Once again- and in a big way, I watched my enemy spiritually decimated right before my eyes. You see, when he sat next to her, pulled in to her space, he knew that was the nastiest way to put hurt on me. A total jerk! But when I spoke (not “hit”- “spoke”), well- my wife let him have it. We left, not fleeing, not cursing but with stature.
Its really splendid to be able to manuever in a violent world and turn physics into “unfelling”- in other words, no one has to die or get hurt. Imagine, say in WWII- if people dropped their guns and played football.* Its not allowed.
*Actually that did happen at Christmas.