You grin. You apologize. O you definitely know better, you sing, but you are, after all, in the middle of a reelection campaign, the officer must understand, and you are heading back home right now to tend to the numerous things that need tending, and show him your ID again.

This, for some reason, makes him angry.

“I need to see your phone, Congressman,” he says, and sticks out his hand.

You give it to him and become slightly nervous watching the officer scroll through your phone like that, especially when he begins telling you that there are new laws in place for Distracted Driving, and he’s been observing you ever since you made that illegal uwee, and he saw how you did not put down your phone once in ten whole minutes, and he even says it like that, like he’s a toddler exaggerating some tiny injustice: ten whole minutes.

“Frankly, Congressman,” he says, “I don’t care who you are. If you’re out here driving so recklessly, you’re putting the public in danger.”

You affirm his position. Gosh, you tell him, he is one hundred percent right. You should absolutely not be on your phone while driving, and you are grateful to him for helping you understand the new laws (even though you do feel they are stupid laws), and if he needs to write you a ticket you will understand.

From him, there is silence.

You ask him how the Boys on the Force are doing. If there’s anything the Boys on the Force need that they’re not getting from Congress, and you again gently remind him that you are a congressman and show him your ID at which point he glances at you, incredulous. He laughs out loud, and this laughing, it’s now telling you that this officer is not on your side, he’s not one of you, he’s probably a fucking Democrat and there is no talking to Democrats, and so from that point on, you shut your mouth and let the officer do the talking, which, as it turns out, is a good idea because you are about to feel more than mildly impugned when the officer starts to unload on you about his wife, how she needed an emergency abortion to save her life and how you, Representative Alexander Paine Wilson (R), were one of the congressmen who voted in favor of Virginia’s recently failed bill to ban all abortions after six weeks, who would have just let his wife die under the pretense of “protecting life,” and that is why this officer—the name on his badge says ANDERSON—who lives in a shitty condo in Falls Church or someplace, is not only about to vote for Nancy Fucking Beavers, he is about to make the life of her opponent all kinds of gigantic living hell.

“Sir, step out of the vehicle,” Officer Anderson says.

You step out. The cop actually asks you to turn around, and he’s going to give you “a pat down, okay?” he says, and so you find yourself red-faced and furious as you turn around on this brutally hot morning and place your hands on the brutally hot hood of the Tahoe as cars and trucks hurtle past, headed onto the bridge and right toward the Jefferson Memorial.