“Hey, you can’t park here. I’m talking to you. Are you deaf or are you stupid?” The shout echoed through the courthouse parking lot. Jordana Santos, 37 years old, stepped out of her Honda Civic. Navy blue suit, leather briefcase. She had parked in spot seven—her assigned space. Sergeant Matos was walking toward her. Heavy कदमs, aggressive expression. He didn’t know who she was, but he was about to find out.
“I’m talking to you,” he shouted louder. “Are you deaf or are you stupid?” Jordana took a deep breath. She knew the type. She had seen hundreds like him. “Good morning, officer,” she said calmly. “I parked in my space. Number seven.” “Your space?” Matos let out a mocking laugh. “And who do you think you are to have an assigned space here?” He stopped three meters from her, hands on his hips, uniform impeccable but posture intimidating. Around 45 years old, strong, tall, used to intimidating others. Behind him, Corporal Ferreira was approaching.
Younger, around 30, a crooked smile—the kind who enjoyed watching others be humiliated. “I work here,” Jordana replied politely. “This space was assigned to me.” “You work here?” Matos burst into laughter. “Doing what? Cleaning? Coffee? Are you the new janitor?” Ferreira laughed too. “Or maybe some lawyer’s secretary—but a lawyer? No way. Look at how she’s dressed.” A third officer leaned against a patrol car about 20 meters away. Officer Cardoso, 50 years old, gray hair, a different posture from the other two—more professional.
