Police officers, what's the weirdest thing you've encountered during a routine traffic stop?

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I got pulled over last month for speeding - I was doing 40 in a 25 zone because I was late picking up my 6-year-old daughter from soccer practice.

The officer walks up to my window, and I'm already apologizing and reaching for my license when he stops mid-sentence and stares into my backseat.

"Ma'am, step out of the vehicle please."

My heart drops. This sounds serious.

"Is there something wrong, officer?"

He's shining his flashlight around my car with this confused expression. "Ma'am, I need you to explain what I'm looking at here."

I turn around and remember that my car looks like a mobile daycare center exploded. There are juice boxes everywhere, goldfish crackers ground into the seats, and about fifteen stuffed animals scattered around.

But that's not what caught his attention.

Sitting in the backseat, perfectly buckled into a car seat, is a life-sized cardboard cutout of The Rock. Next to him is a bag from Spencer's that clearly says "ADULT NOVELTY" on the side.

Oh God. I forgot about my sister's bachelorette party supplies.

"Officer, I can explain both of those things, and they're completely unrelated-"

He holds up his hand, trying not to laugh. "Please do. Because I've been doing this job for twelve years and I've never had to ask someone why Dwayne Johnson is properly secured next to a bag of... party supplies."

So I have to explain that my daughter is obsessed with The Rock. Not his movies, not his wrestling - she just thinks he's "the nicest strong man" and insists he comes everywhere with us.

"She makes me buckle him in for safety. Says he's part of our family now."

The officer nods slowly. "And the Spencer's bag?"

"My sister's bachelorette party is tonight. I'm the maid of honor. I had to pick up... decorations... and party games."

He's clearly fighting back laughter. "So you're telling me The Rock is chaperoning adult party supplies?"

"Essentially, yes. My daughter doesn't know what's in the bag, she just knows Rocky has to be buckled in safely wherever we go."

The officer walks around to look through the back window. Cardboard Rock is sitting there with his perfect smile, seat belt properly fastened, while a bag full of inappropriate party games sits innocently beside him.

"Does he have a name?"

"She calls him Rocky Johnson. And yes, before you ask, he has his own Happy Meal orders, his own seat at restaurants, and his own Christmas stocking."

The officer loses it. He's laughing so hard he has to lean against my car.

"Ma'am, I have to ask - does Rocky have identification?"

I reach into my glove compartment and pull out a laminated card my daughter made. It's a driver's license for "Rocky Johnson" with his picture, our address, and under restrictions it says "MUST BE NICE TO EVERYONE."

The officer examines it seriously. "Well, his paperwork seems to be in order."

Then he leans down to my window. "You know what? I was going to give you a speeding ticket, but Rocky here seems like a good influence. Anyone who makes sure The Rock wears his seatbelt is probably a responsible driver who just made a mistake."

He hands me back my license. "Just slow down, okay? Rocky's got people who care about him."

As he's walking back to his patrol car, he stops and calls out: "Tell your daughter Officer Martinez said hi to Rocky!"

When I pick up my daughter, she's thrilled. "Rocky made friends with a police officer? He's so good at making friends!"

The next week, she insists we drive by the police station so Rocky can "visit his friend." We pull into the parking lot and she makes me honk the horn.

She's started making him a badge out of construction paper and aluminum foil.