an enchanted story, if the thread will allow:
Some years ago, on the way home from a ten hour day seven stories high in the middle of winter in a "very cosmopolitan" city on a lake, a younger chap in a commercial heavy duty service truck was instructed to pull over by cosmopolitan constable on the tight side of a six lane divided highway at the peak of rush hour, for allegedly turning right on red against posted regulation when embarking down the entrance ramp.
The constable asked if the chap had any contraband in the vehicle. Young chap replied respectfully and firmly that he did not. The constable, not to be deterred, asked: "Do you mind if we check?" Young chap, unaware at the time he was being sneakily asked to waive his fourth amendment rights in this jurisdiction, but certain there was no contraband replied: "No, not at all."
The constabulary, now reinforced, tore the truck cab apart for 45 minutes on the side of the major highway during rush hour looking for contraband. They found a single bottle cap in a corner behind the seats, one nice briar pipe of english origin smelling distinctly of latakia in the side pocket of the passenger door, and a lighter. The dog indicated he did not like latakia, but nothing else. The supervisor, now on scene, related to the cadre how his grandfather smoked a pipe and it always smelled nice to him.
The young chap was cited for alleged turning violation and sent on his way. The charge was contested in mayor's court, dismissed, and the detaining constable publicly lectured by the presiding officer of the court.
Moral of the story: if young chap had been actively smoking said pipe at the moment of being pulled over, wafting waves of latakia and virginia out the window, the story would probably have ended much sooner.
post script: that pipe is still in its same spot today.
