It wasn’t long before I felt competent in my new role as a motor cop. Riding a motorcycle felt increasingly natural, like the BMW was an extension of my body. I was familiar with the job, what to do, and when. I knew where things went. I understood what was expected of me.

Officer Campbell poked his head into our lineup room. “Hey, sarge sent a message, said something came up. She’ll be a little late. I’m grabbing some coffee. Anyone else want some?” A group of officers hanging out in the back of the room raised their hands.Officer Campbell left. “So, Moutsos,” one of the officers in the back said, “do you really think I’m going to hell because I drink coffee and alcohol?” I twisted around on my seat to see who’d spoken. Officer Williams, a stocky man with a bristly mustache, watched me with a poorly suppressed grin.

A couple of his friends sniggered. I said, “What are you talking about?” “You know,” Officer Williams said, “your religion teaches it’s a sin to smoke and drink coffee and alcohol, right?” I groaned inwardly, but kept my expression neutral. The slight majority of the motor cops I worked with were not religious. Most were courteous, but a few of them had become increasingly rude towards my faith. I told myself it wasn’t mean-spirited, more like a hazing ritual directed at the new guy. The female officer, Officer Lewis, was the worst, or at least the most blatant to my face. I remember her saying, “Hey, Moutsos, you read your golden book today?” talking about some of my church’s scriptures.

I had shrugged nonchalantly and said, “Yeah, in fact I did. Just a little before work. And, it comes in vinyl…the gold ones are more expensive.” “By the way,” Lewis responded, “I read your Facebook posts and found them offensive.” “Really?” I had said. “There’s a simple fix to that you know.” I opened my phone and unfriended her as she stood there staring. Officer Williams opened his mouth, but said nothing. Confusion contorted his features.

To his left, Officer Soto said, “Tell us about the secret things you do in your temples.” Behind Soto, Officer Baze said, “He can’t talk about that. He’s sworn a blood oath.”  “What are you talking about?” I said. Baze shrugged. “Just something I watched on YouTube.” I rolled my eyes, which got a couple of them to shake with quiet amusement. “No,” Williams said, “but seriously, why do you–all of you Christians–think you get to go to heaven but everyone else goes to hell?” I started to answer, but Officer Lewis stood, shot me a hostile look, and interrupted. “You should probably pray to your Baby Jesus before you answer that.”

Strong language for a home-wrecker, I thought, but was glad I didn’t say it out loud–she would have scratched out my eyes. So, instead, I stared at her in annoyed disbelief as she sauntered past and out of the line-up room. I glanced at the three members of my faith sitting in the room. They just watched, squirming, looking like they wished to be anywhere but here.

The group of vocal unbelievers peppered me with questions. I answered them as politely and as thoroughly as I could. Most of them lost their air of ridicule and at least appeared to be interested in what I said. I thought it turned into a productive conversation. Our sergeant finally arrived and we got down to business.

I worked hard that afternoon. I was already halfway to my twenty tickets.There was a certain freedom that came from being on a motorcycle. I wasn’t tied to my radio. I had to work hard, had to hit my numbers, but I got to choose when and how I worked. I could bust my butt for several hours, then take a break and decompress towards the end of shift if I wanted. Today, I decided to go up the nearby canyon. I wanted some time to think about the talk I’d had with my fellow officers before our lineup meeting started. I usually Monday morning quarterback those kinds of conversations, wishing I’d said this or that, but not this time. I thought I’d answered as well as I could have.

I drove up the snaking canyon road and the temperature cooled. The sun began to set, casting Salt Lake City in the colors of dusk. I thought, It doesn’t get better than this. Paid to ride a motorcycle. The wind, the hum of the engine, the motion of the bike roaring up the narrow road. The best. I’ll never leave motors. There were some great, hard-working professionals on my squad, but even if everyone was like Officer Lewis, I’d still stay. The bike made everything worth it.

I thought about the last get-together motors had. The barbecue was good, the conversations not so good. I felt like a loner pretty quickly. I’d had enough of crude conversations during my rowdy years in my late teens, before I’d realized my life wasn’t what I wanted it to be, before I’d found God. It seemed like all that the majority of my coworkers wanted to talk about was women’s body parts and what they’d like to do with so-and-so, their parties and who was the biggest drunk, or the negative gossiping and backbiting, especially about their ex-spouses, ex-boyfriends, or behind-the-scene girlfriends. They seemed to thrive on those topics. I didn’t want to be around it. Still, I wanted to be apart of the team. Was it possible?

From high on a mountain top, I watched the city lights pop into existence, the valley becoming a vast twinkling bowl. Soon, I headed down the mountain and back to work. The next day, at the start of another shift, I strolled into our lineup room.I was about to sit when Officer Williams asked if he could have a quick second with me outside about yesterday’s conversation.

“Of course,” I said, and followed him out to where our bikes were. I wondered if something I’d said had reached him, touched his heart, sparked an interest in knowing more, but out of earshot of his buddies to avoid embarrassment.

“Hey,” Williams said, “I just want you to know, as a friend, that you upset a few of the guys on the squad for bringing up God.” I blinked at him in disbelief. “You aren’t serious?” Williams offered me a sympathetic smile and shrugged. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. “You’re the one who brought it up,” I said. “You asked me questions. I answered them.”

“Well,” Williams said, “the guys think you imposed your faith a little too strongly and elaborated a little too much.” I shook my head and looked down. Then a thought that I’d never considered popped into my head. “Can I ask you a question?” “Sure,” he said.
“Can someone be religiously into pornography?” “What?” Williams said, glancing to the left and snorting a laugh, “Are you saying I’m into porn?” “No,” I said, “I’m just asking a hypothetical. Can someone be religiously into sports, or cars, or fishing, or whatever? When I say ‘religiously,’ I mean that’s all they think and talk about?” “What are you getting at?” Williams said.

“When Christians say they worship God,” I said, “what they really mean is that they put God above other things. That’s what’s important to them. If fishing is the most important thing to someone, then they worship fishing in the same sense that I worship God. I go to church each Sunday. A guy who loves fishing goes fishing every weekend. So, when you guys all sit in the motorcycle office and you mostly talk about sex, and women’s body parts the way you do, don’t you think you’re imposing your religion on me?”

He scowled. “Oh, hey now, that’s not the same.” “Ya, it is. In fact, you say that I bring up God too much?” Nodding, Williams said, “Well, you kinda do. I mean, even if you don’t say it, people on the squad know what you’re thinking. They think it’s weird.” “So now I’m talking about religion without saying a word, because people just know what I’m thinking. What is that, telepathic preaching?” “You get what I’m saying,” Williams said.

“The irony,” I said, “is that you guys bring up God’s name way more times than I do each day. God this and Jesus Christ that. How about this: I won’t bring Him up if you don’t.” Williams opened his mouth, but only stared, his eyes sort of glazing over as he tried to grasp what I was saying. “If the others want me to not mention God in reverence,” I said, “even though the only times I’ve brought Him up was when I was asked, then they, and you, can’t mention His name in vain two hundred times a day. Deal?”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Respect goes both ways,” I said. “You want me to respect your religion, then how about you respect my religion.”  “I suppose,” Williams said. “Just think on it,” I said, and headed back to the lineup room, leaving him to mull over our conversation. As I went inside, I wondered how he would later spin this conversation to his buddies. I smiled, imagining Williams facing them, explaining how they couldn’t swear anymore, and getting flustered by their bewildered expressions.

Well, I didn’t really expect them to stop swearing. I could only hope that Williams understood a little better where I was coming from. And not just me.I could tell that their disrespect for others’ beliefs, intentional or not, and their crude remarks, made others on the squad uncomfortable. No one should have to feel uncomfortable for their beliefs, especially at a public workplace. After all, we had a very important  Amendment in the  Constitution that protected us, didn’t we?