Paul Sassone

Astynomiaphobia.

I think I’ve got it.

Astynomiaphobia is fear of police — “astynomia” means police in

Greek. And “phobia” is fear of. Fear of police.

I was happily ignorant of this malady until the other day when I was driving.

My only familiarity with fear of police was what I had read about the film director Alfred Hitchcock.

It seems that when he was a child Hitchcock was sent to the local police station with a letter from his father. The desk sergeant read the letter and locked young Alfred in a cell for 10 minutes. When he let the boy out, the sergeant told him, “This is what happens to

people who do bad things.”

Hitchcock had a morbid fear of police for the rest of his life, which partially explains the recurring “wrong man” theme in his films.

It also is the reason he never learned to drive. If you don’t drive you can’t be pulled over by the police.

And there I was, driving, and not a thought of fearing police.

I flicked on my left turn signal, waited until there were no oncoming cars and made my turn.

Then I heard the short, strangled siren burst. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Right behind me was a squad car with lights flashing.

I burst into astynomiaphobia.

Oh, God, what have I done? I signaled the turn. Just last week my car passed the state emissions test. And that very morning I had attached my state license plate sticker for 2016.

Was I speeding?

Do I match the description of some criminal?

Speeding? That can’t be. I’ve haven’t received a speeding ticket in decades of driving. In fact, I am frequently mocked by people who ride with me for my turtle-ish adherence to the speed limit.

And he’d have to be a pretty elderly and out-of-shape crook to look like me.

I pulled over. It was a chilly day, but I was sweating.

How do I behave? Do I get out of the car? Do I smile? On Adam 12 the cops always ask for license and registration. I have a license. But what the devil is registration? Where do I get a registration? If I don’t have a registration will I be arrested?

I rolled down my widow and pasted a sickly smile on my face.

The police officer slowly exited his car. He looked just like Officer Jim Reed on Adam 12. Reed was always nice to people. Maybe this policeman was nice, too. Maybe I would be ticketed. But what the hell for? What had I done?

The officer walked up to the driver’s side of my car.

“Hello , sir,” he smiled.

Hello officer, I replied with what I hoped was a smile.

The policeman tugged my side-view mirror until it was in the open position.

“Have a nice day,” the policeman said, turned, got back in his car and drove off.

And that was it. Often I collapse the side-view mirror when I drive in or out of the garage. I had forgotten to open the mirror today.

I drove off, too — after a minute or so.

That Disney song popped into my head, but with new words. I started softly singing — Who’s afraid of the astynomia?

Not me.

Not now.

–Who’s afraid of  the astynomia?–