“Don’t
speed in Mapleton! The cops have nothing better to do than to pick up people
who speed!” This is a phrase frequently heard around my community. I grew up in
a small Utah town called Mapleton. It’s nestled underneath the beautiful Maple Mountain and sandwiched
in between Springville and Spanish Fork. Mapleton has everything a quaint small
town could have; large parks, fields, only two streets containing stoplights,
and parts of town untouched by concrete sidewalks. The only commercial places
we have in Mapleton are a Subway, three gas stations, a floral shop, and a
random insurance place. Also, quite notably, is the scarce amount of crime in
Mapleton. That’s why it’s not uncommon for people to warn outsiders not to
speed. It’s a joke that the police force in Mapleton doesn’t have anything to
deal with besides a couple of people speeding 40 MPH down a street marked with
a speed limit of 35 MPH. I always laughed about this until I had my own
experience with the police force that not only made it funny, but true as well.
It
was a warm and peaceful Sunday summer evening in Mapleton. My friend, Anthony
and I were at a friend’s house for a missionary farewell. Anthony and I walked
out of our friend’s house into the summer air and jumped into my trusty 2003
Honda Pilot. We were sandwiched in between two cars and I carefully backed out
and went on my way to drive Anthony home to Spanish Fork. As I headed down the
road, I noticed in my rearview window that there was a middle-aged man in a
white truck glaring at me and waving his finger. I was confused, but decided to
ignore it.
We drove to Spanish fork and the truck
continued to follow us. At this point, I was thoroughly uneasy about this
stalking truck. I decided to double check to ensure that the truck really was
following me and it wasn’t simply a coincidence. I weaved in and out of a confusing
neighborhood, the kind of neighborhood that a person would only go to if they
lived there. I glanced in my side mirror and sure enough the truck was still on
my tail.
Drive
to the police station.” Anthony told me, to which I agreed. As I was about to head in
the direction of the nearest police station, much to my mixed relief as well as
dismay, a police officer showed up and pulled me over. I jumbled in my wallet
for my driver’s license and told Anthony to search in the glove box for the
registration. I watched timidly as the
police officer made his way to my car. I slowly rolled down the window.
“Do
you know why I pulled you over?” The police officer asked.
“No.”
I told him honestly.
“Have
you noticed this truck following you?” He asked.
“Yeah!”
I responded. Who wouldn’t? He proceeded
to tell me that the mysterious white truck thought I had committed a hit and
run back in Mapleton, after I backed out and apparently hit the car parked
behind me. Anthony and I looked at each other very confused. “I didn’t hit the car…did I?” I thought
to myself. Lost in this thought, I watched as another police car pulled up. “Great now I’m a fugitive, there are two
police cars after me now!”
I
piped up and informed the officer that I was parked in-between two cars and it
was certainly possible that I hit the car behind me backing up, but I didn’t
believe that I had. The officer took my license and said he’d work it out. I
watched as one of the officers conversed with stalking truck man, who had
pulled over with the police as well. My confused look turned into a glare as he
finished talking and drove away.
The other police officer got out of his
car and inspected my car; he informed me my car was free from any damage. Soon,
three more police cars showed up, so there were six police cars there just for
me! My best guess was because they were bored on a Sunday evening and saw
activity going on and decided to join in. I felt embarrassed, with all the
police cars there, the cars driving by probably thought the scene was a drug bust
or murder investigation. All the criminals in the city could've gotten away
with anything because the police force of Mapleton and Spanish Fork were surrounding
an innocent girl who was simply minding her own business and going about her
Sunday evening peacefully.
The
officers informed me that they had sent another police car to inspect the other
car that I apparently had hit. We sat there for a while, until the officer received
news that there was no damage to the other car. He told me I was free to go.
Now
I find the situation humorous more than anything, it may have been scary at the
time but at least it makes for an interesting story to tell. Essentially, I got
pulled over by 6 police cars for not hitting another car because someone was
bored on a Sunday evening and took it upon himself to investigate something
that wasn't their business.
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