Here is why I no longer trust the police.
It was a normal Wednesday night (other than the fact that I was recovering from hernia surgery) in Central, South Carolina. I was playing video games in my efficiency apartment with a pack of frozen peas on my groin, and maybe had some loratab on board. Around 10 there was a loud knock on the door. I wasn't expecting anyone, and it took me a few seconds to stand up (still had stitches) and walk to the door. Before I made it to the door there was another knock, followed by "POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!". I hurried to the door assuming the apartment was on fire, or some other emergency was going down. I opened the door and was met with a flashlight in my face and gun pointed at my chest. The cop with the flashlight grabbed my by the wrist spun me around, handcuffed me (while screaming "THIS IS FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY!"), the pushed me up against the second floor railing, splitting all of my stitches. The cop with the gun drawn, and another cop who I didn't see at first stormed into my apartment, while the cop who had my cuffed continued to push me over the rail screaming "WHERE'S THE GUN! TELL ME WHERE YOU HID THE GUN!"
What had I done to deserve this treatment? Nothing, I didn't own a gun, and I hadn't left my apartment in two days because of the surgery. I tried to explain this, but they just kept screaming at me about a gun. Then it happened, a guy who I vaguely recognized ran up the stairs. The cop spun me around and asked him "Is this him, is this the guy?" The dude, with crazy looking eyes, took a look a me and said, "no, no, that's not him, he must have ran into another apartment". At this point, the cop who had me cuffed spun me around, patted me down, and then took the cuffs off. He yelled for the cops in my apartment, who were busy throwing stuff out of my closet, and they rushed out, saying they "couldn't find the gun". The handcuff cop said they had the wrong apartment, let me go, with nothing, not an explanation, not an apology, nothing. I went back inside my apartment and locked the door and listened. The crazy guy was talking 1,000 miles an hour and what he was saying made no sense. He was screaming that someone was chasing him, had shocked him, and was shooting at him. It was obvious to me that the dude was bent. I thought meth, but it turned out to be a crack binge. It was obvious to me, but the cops just kept going, they emptied out 3 more apartments, before the crazy guy took off down the stairs (I was peaking out the window at this point) screaming that someone was shooting at him. He then dove under a van in the parking lot. At this point, it must have occurred to one of the cops that the dude was out of his mind, and they left. Again, no follow up to check on me, no apology, nothing, they just left. In the meantime I realized that blood was running down my leg and dripping on the floor.
So what was the real story (I found all of this out later from a trusted source)? This guy, basically known as the screw up from a well known local family (his two brothers were famous athletes) had been on a 3 day crack binge and had snapped. His friends had him locked in a closet in an apartment in a neighboring complex, but he kicked the door down and escaped. He proceeded to run into downtown and smash the front window of the firehouse in attempt to get help because he thought someone was trying to kill him (in his mind). Instead of locking him up, the cops actually listened to his story, and took action. He lead the cops into the parking lot of my apartment complex and I was unlucky enough to be the fist apartment at the top of the stairs.
After he had 4 apartments emptied at gunpoint and sought shelter under a van, what happened to him? Nothing, the cops called his parents (he was in his mid 20's at the time) and they took him home. They paid for the window of the fire station, and probably increased their donation to the police department, and that was the extent of his punishment.
After the excitement, it struck me. One false move on my part and I would have ended up with a hole in my chest, and all over the word of a drug fiend. I went down the next day to talk to the police, but instead of talking to anyone in the department, I was met by a guy who I assume was a lawyer. He told me that what happened was standard police protocol, that I had agreed to the search by opening my door, and that I had no reason to file a complaint. His tone seemed to indicate that I was being a drama queen. I told him to F-off and left, intent on suing. I talked to two local lawyers I trusted, and they both told me the same thing. I could sue, I would win a few thousand dollars, it would take several years to get paid, and I would probably end up spending more money in traffic tickets and I would be harassed by the police at ever turn. Three days later the chief of police finally showed up at my apartment and apologized, and tried to explain that his cops were "scared" and that they "didn't deal with these things very often", which didn't make me feel any better. I basically had my life in the hands of a scared, under-trained officer. I accepted his apology and kept my mouth shut, because I didn't want to have to deal with the police (I did get the chiefs business card, with his personal number on the back, which I assumed was a local get out of jail free card).
If this can happen to me. A clean cut college kid. I have no doubt that far worse has happened to other people. This is why I no longer give police the benefit of the doubt.
