fear and loathing in munich city, or: the STASI is dead, long live STASI

It was about 3 o'clock in the morning, when I tipsily left the bar and started my walk home.

After about 10 minutes of my 1 1/2 hour walk, a nice gray bmw holds next to me, producing a
young, blond girl. "Hi there", she said.. which made me wonder, if I'm too drunk or already asleep.. or even both. Realizing this scene was too much to deal with at that moment, I mumbled something like "...and a nice 'hi' to you, too" and was about to leave that oddity, when some guy,
who I got to know as "jerk" not long after that, climbed out of the car and introduced themselves as some kind of "cops", who were about to make an identity check.

I blinked for a second, suddenly realising that this scene DOES need a bit of a dealing, and asked
if it had to be right here, in the middle of medium sized munich crossing, near the famous "wies'n". "yeah, yeah, we're OK with that", he answered when blondie fed my ID to the PC. "have you been at any time envolved in some kind of drug business", he then asked without even looking me straight in the face. "sure", I said, "with marihuana. 'bout ten years ago."

I was tempted to say "18, sir" when he asked me how old I am now.

Right then, blondie returned and very dutifully pointed out - with her head shaking - that I wasn't the kind of big fish dopefiend they undoubtfully were hoping to have found when they discovered a young bloke, all dressed up in "hip hop clothes" (I'm sure they thought of them as such), at an absolutely un-christian hour of 3 a.m. in the middle of the streets.

Blondie's better half, however, shoed us that he was indeed worth his authority, when he had the glamorous idea to search me anyway. ah, what the hell.

I mean, who could you trust these days, anyway?

alright then, have my stuff. I emptied my pockets and carefully dropped my havings with a very calculated height onto their hood, while we were perpetually flashed by the lights of passing cars.

That was about the time I felt being raped, here in the middle of the streets, and everybody was invited for a shot of amusement on their way home.

And to make this impression of an act more realistic, mister super snooper hasn't even begun yet when I thought it was almost over: he showed impressive bravery and courage, mixed with a fatal misunderstanding of when and where to use it, when he started to grab into my pockets.
He did do that. Now he was using his hand. Can they do that?

Well, he could, obviously, and after he fumbled around with my belt buckle and almost stuck his thumb into my pants and told me they're allowed to do "that", he DID find something.

A tiny black clump, carefully wrapped up in transparent plastic. Holy...what?

"Alright, you are hereby arrested according to §15, law for dealing with narcotics". Hold on...let's pause for second, and think before you get a heart attack.

Is there, by any chance, the possibility of having something on you, right here and now...
Has anything happened in that pub you could have failed to memorize? Or do you just fail to remember? erh...

OK, the pause is over. Luckily, this was about the time I realized that I've taken some candy out of the hotel-lobby of our movie set this very afternoon, and that this clump right here in the jerks hand was the forgotten coke-flavoured one (haha). 

"Why... is there too much sugar in it or what?"

OK, I have to admit that the look of my protector and server was worth some of the trouble, and it kept me entertained for the rest of my walk... but don't get me wrong: I was - and still am - upset.

My main problem with all this is not this whole scene being a perfect example of arrogation, allegation and abuse of authority, which, by the way, resembles the current over-all state here in bavaria, but that these glorious guards most probably don't waste any thoughts about their action, not to speak the citizen's reaction.

And I wonder, don't we all know where this leads?

P.S.: The very next day I was walking to a pub with a friend, when we were suddenly followed by a police car, right there next to us. Moved when we moved, stopped when we stopped.. until we entered our pub.

P.P.S.: My dad just told me - and you have to understand that he's in his fifties, a former farmer and does not, in any way, looks like an unresponsible citizen (which he isn't, by the way) - was tested three (!) times for alcohol in one stop-and-search operation by the police, and has then been shaved (!!) on the street in order to be tested for driving under the influence of narcotics.
just like that.

P.P.P.S.: I have plenty of stories of such kind.

P.P.P.P.S.: If I do look like a vicious, dope dealing punk, please let me know. I don't want to be a victim of a wrong self estimation, after all.