Seeing as I’ve been unable to shake the feeling that I’m close to a seizure even after discussing the matter with my wise, wisecracking friends, it seems in my interests to just write what I’m thinking, and what my friends concur likely happened.
From having my driver’s license yanked for six months at a time for having separate breakthrough seizures (ones that occur despite being medicated), I’m a long-time sucker for anyone without wheels, particularly when it’s raining. But I won’t ever be again.
I know quite a bit about coached criminal informants, the worst of which I’m aware of is likely Roger Dale Chapman, who testified against William Dillon (along with charlatan dog handler John Preston) and cost Dillon 27 years of his life. After Dillon was cleared by DNA, Chapman publicly apologized for lying about him, and named his coaches. Chapman later retracted – claiming his apology was made up, not his initial testimony. Chapman is back in prison for running a shake’n’bake meth lab and for sexual battery on a minor – the latter of which was a repeat offense … it’s what he skated on to testify falsely against Dillon.
The lady I’d given a ride to several times and gave another ride to the drizzly night of the 18th may well be a criminal informant who set me up, because I don’t think I failed to come to a complete stop at a stop sign. I had just seen an unmarked car parked sideways in the apron of a driveway, and – like most people with PTSD – I am hyper-alert, not the reverse.
When the officers pulled me over – no where near the stop sign I’d allegedly rolled through – the officer at my window was very happy, smilingly assuring me that I wasn’t going to get a ticket, only a warning. The officer at the passenger window cheerfully (and lawlessly) questioned the lady I was giving the ride to at great length … asking her for her I.D., asking her if she’d ever been incarcerated (she has, and may be in need of “favors” like Chapman continually is), asking her far more than I could focus on with the squad car’s lights putting me in jeopardy of a seizure (I have light sensitive epilepsy).
As it turned out, the destination the lady had me drop her off at was at the corner of a major cross street – there had been no reason at all to direct me on a circuitous route through dangerous neighborhoods.
No longer taking anyone anywhere unless I know them very well will go against my grain, but ignoring what comes natural will not be a first. While I was working part time at a furniture store, I exited the building for lunch one day (for which my schedule never varied), to find an apparently unconscious man on the sidewalk, right by the door. All my PTSD alarm bells went off because his head was comfortably resting on a backpack. In all the times that seizures have taken me down, not once have I ever had a soft landing; I’ve hit my head on porcelain, metal, wood, glass … you name it. I smelled a set-up, one that might get me injured or killed by the “unconscious” man feigning being startled, as I was already years into battling to stay safe. I walked back into the furniture store, got others to assist him and circled out of another door to go to lunch. More recently, when I drove by a man who’d apparently fallen from his bike (spotting him only through my rear view mirror), I fought the tendency to turn around to assist and instead dialed 911. My training as an EMT first responder is rusty, but it isn’t entirely useless, and my years of experience as nurse assistant keeps me immune to worrying about being bled on, barfed on, etc.
Of course, the surest way to determine whether the cop stop on the night of the 18th was to document my having a former felon in my vehicle in an questionable neighborhood is to go to the city and get a copy of the police report. But I’m frankly too damned tired, and have too damned much to do. Florida is killing people in the name of justice, and it isn’t going to stop by people finding better things to do than to try to expose as much of it as they can.
For no reason (no cop stop since 1972), four agencies (three Florida, one federal) have used Florida’s Facebook for Cops DAVID system to check up on me. And those are just the agencies that chose to disclose that they’d checked up on me, and comes from just four years of records, as eight additional years of records were destroyed despite ongoing controversies over them, and despite electronic storage being dirt cheap.
Florida Attorney General Pam Bondi is on the wrong side of the DAVID issue, just as she’s on the wrong side of the charlatan dog handler John Preston issue, despite her campaign promise to look at every conviction achieved using Preston. Her following through would have made me safe in short order, along with many others.
It galls me to feel I have to publish the DAVID Facebook for Cops report on the agencies that admitted they were (or are) looking at me. But there’s a chance that good officers out there are just as interested in protecting me as bad officers (and agents) are in finding a reason to pretend I’ve acted outside the law.
I made queries regarding each of the DAVID “hits.” One agency pretends I haven’t contacted them, after three queries; I just sent out a fourth. One agency made some stuff up. One agency pretended they’d never heard of me, which my “sent” email box makes a thorough joke of. One agency is investigating, or so they say … how may weeks does it take for Internal Affairs to ask the requester, “Why did you run this lady?”
Hopefully now that I’ve spoken my peace, I’ll be able to catnap, and wake with up my brain waves in a more stable state than they’ve been since the soggy evening of the 18th.