“You ready?” Officer Austin Snider asked as he climbed into the driver’s side of the vehicle.

My response was immediate: “Yes.” What was it exactly that I was ready for? A shoot-out, car chase or gang fight? From the passenger seat of a Winston-Salem Police Department (WSPD) cop car, all of these were feasible.

“What are we in for tonight?” I asked. 

“You never know until you get there,” he responded.

After six years on the force, Snider knew his way around the west side of the city. We began by staking out a known “open drug market,” which exists within the confines of two government-funded houses. 

Immediately, a gray van with duct tape sealing the windows caught his eye. 

“That’s not supposed to be there,” Snider said definitively before parking on the street and going dark.  

On his 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. shift, Snider frequently visits this same complex with the hope of preventing inebriated drivers from getting behind the wheel. With the familiarity that comes with patrolling the same area, Snider was proficient in identifying all the resident vehicles in this area. 

After six years in the Marines, Snider continues to serve our country to “deal with things that people don’t think happen. I want to help people without them knowing that I’m helping them directly.”

Even with our lights off — an attempt to veil the white police vehicle in the darkness — a man in a yellow jumpsuit stumbles up the block. He spots us and waves before he continues his trek. Snider, to my surprise, waves back. 

“That’s Ted, he’s good people,” he said offhandedly. I nod to myself, struck by the extent to which he has immersed himself within this community.

After a few minutes, it was decided that the vehicle must have slipped out of the driveway within the time that we set up our hiding spot. We continued our ride-along as voices came through the intercom and Snider hurriedly entered plates into the system.

“There was a whole COVID-19 class that was taught to just hang around,” Snider said as we exited the highway. “The people didn’t want us out and we stayed out of their way. But that’s not good police work — that’s not what I do.” 

One plate, hanging crookedly off an old Volkswagen, caught our attention. After running it through the network, it revealed the car was registered to a Ford semi-truck. The blue and red lights illuminated the back of the Ducati, and we followed as it turned into a driveway.

Snider jumped out and shut the door. A second later, he opened it once again. “You can hop out,” he said nonchalantly. 

I excitedly followed his instructions and approached the passenger side window. After excuses and tickets were exchanged between the two men, we re-embarked on our drive.

“I think I ruined our intimidation tactic,” I teased. 

“There is no intimidation tactic,” he corrected. 

“Take a foot-chase, for example,” Snider said. “Their job is to run and mine is to catch them. And if I catch them, I’m not angry. I’m just better at my job.” 

I had never applied such simplicity to these circumstances. 

While we waited for our light at an intersection, a familiar vehicle once again caught our eye: the duct-taped van. After confirmation that it was the same car, Snider re-engaged the siren and we pulled off to the side of the road. 

Four passengers sat in the vehicle. In the back seat was Dave, a repeat offender with a pre-established relationship with Snider. 

A narcotics dog in training arrived and completed an open sniff of the vehicle. Within a minute, he positively alerted his handler to the presence of contraband. 

With a backpack in hand, Snider rounded the vehicle and stood before the group. 

“Dave, why do you have a bag of needles and a portable scale?” He questioned. 

“I’m diabetic, man,” he responded. 

While the evening was equally amusing and memorable, Officer Snider revealed a side of police work that was principled and fair.

“I try to humanize the badge,” Snider said. “Most people in their everyday life never call the police; When they do, I try to understand that although this is my everyday, it’s probably their worst day.” 

He continued: “Whether they’re the suspect or victim, I try to treat everyone with dignity and respect because, at the end of the day, we’re all humans and we all make mistakes.”