I lived in New York City for five years when it wasn't as safe as it is now, and had too many police encounters. Once two cops ran up to my fifth-floor walkup, arriving less than three minutes after I called. They stood on either side of my vacationing neighbors' door, held their guns ready at shoulder level, banged on the door and yelled, "Police! Open up!" They were relieved and happy when it turned out that the loud noise I had heard was a high stack of boxes that had fallen over. But I'll never forget the intense look on their faces when they thought they might be confronted by a gunman.
Another time I was walking on upper Broadway, not far from Columbia University, and came across a sting operation on the subway. The cops were arresting turnstile jumpers. The "perps" being frog-marched upstairs into squad cars were all very young black boys from the ghetto, but it was the cops who were a surprise. There was a "young black prostitute," a "homeless old white drunk," a "strung-out black junkie," a "Japanese businessman," a "Yuppie mom," a "foreign student," a "little old lady," a "hot girl," and an amazing variety of the endless parade of human types that is New York City.
My experience of Paris policemen over the years has been less than overwhelming. They mostly seem to be very young, skinny kids from the provinces. It always makes me laugh to see tourists ask them for directions. The next step is always to watch them puzzle over the map together with the tourists.
The Dutch policemen I've seen since I've been in the Netherlands are mostly tall, fair-haired, good-looking. They ride Segways, bicycles, horses, and rollerblades. They have "polite" in their name. A few days ago I witnessed a mugging and had to go to the police station with the victim. The policemen and -women treated us witnesses with respect, all spoke excellent English, and served us coffee as if we were in a restaurant.
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