You’d probably say it was a good thing that it took nearly my entire freshman year to figure out that, here at Stanford, Community Service is code for Law Enforcement. Last year I represented the height of naivete, as far as the officers in tan were concerned. I think back in amazement to all those times I plugged along on my bike with no light, whizzing by sketchy SUVs and pickup trucks emblazoned with ‘Community Service’ stickers on their imposing white hulls, when I could have been stopped, ticketed, and probably made some officer’s day. Last year, the idea of a police presence on campus simply didn’t occur to me.

Now it’s the end of my sophomore year, and things are different. I’ve had more than my fair share of run-ins with the Community Service officers. No, I haven’t gotten arrested. My record is squeaky clean. But the end result of my interaction with the cops, even as the innocent, civil party, is that I’m now in a perpetual state of paranoia — not exactly the warm, fuzzy feeling the Platitudes tell me to feel when in the presence of John Law.

My first run-in was ridiculously stupid, and is one I’m willing to bet many of you have also experienced. One fair night, biking towards Tresidder, I was nabbed by an officer hiding in the shadows near Roble forest. The man was perfectly amicable. He asked me about my academic life, which turned out to be his way of segueing into self-deprecation: “Economics is a good major. You can do a lot with it. Look at me, I was a criminology major and look what I’m doing — pulling over college students on bikes at 9 p.m. on a Thursday.” I’m not an Econ major, but I appreciated his honesty. Nonetheless, being slammed with a fix-it ticket sort of precluded any sympathy from my end.

A few weekends ago, I was walking towards the Row on a Friday night, carrying a bottle of seltzer water in hand. Now, being in a constant state of paranoia, I was 100% sure I would get pulled over, because, you know, seltzer water looks suspiciously like vodka or gin (or Sprite, Sierra Mist, or tap water). Sure enough, less than fifteen seconds later, my vision was blinded by the Light of the Law (that’s a MagLite), and I found myself explaining to another one of our uniformed friends that I was carrying a bottle of perfectly harmless Seltzer water, and that I didn’t want any trouble, sir. He had to sniff it a couple of times to make sure. Eventually, he left me to mull over the significance of his parting words: “This is your campus.”

My campus, huh. I’m not trying to rabble-rouse, muckrake, or start a revolution. It just seems strange to me that an increasing percentage of my life is spent worrying about the Community Service officer waiting around the corner. I grant that it’s an irrational fear, since I’m not doing anything warranting any disciplinary measures, but there is something unsettling about being watch-dogged at your every step.

Parties like Exotic Erotic (and even, to some extent, the shindig at Chi Theta Chi) exemplify the new standard set by the University and its relationship with the CS dept. (that’s Community Service to you, mister!). Did anyone have fun this past Friday? If standing in long lines guarded by uniformed officers is your thing, maybe you had a blast. But otherwise, the most entertainment I had on Friday was watching the makings of a fight shape up outside of Exotic Erotic, and, before nary a punch was thrown, listening to a group of four or five security forces as they quickly mobilized into action: “What? A fight? I’m there!” and “Right behind you Jimmy!”

Everyone likes to feel safe. No one likes it when people get mugged on the Stanford campus, or when a laptop thief raids a dorm. No one likes it when the Physics Department gets busted into what seems like every other week. We all appreciate the efforts of the men and women who go out and try to stop crime. Still, although I’m no expert in matters of Criminal Justice, I’m left wondering: what good comes out of patrolling the Row every weekend night, accosting every dumb kid holding a reddish looking cup, and thereby cultivating a culture of perpetual unease?

I love how my opinions are, in the eyes of the responsible, adult-in-charge world, the trifling, confused views of a naive little kid who doesn’t know how good he has it. But that’s missing the point. I got along fine my freshman year without being mugged or stabbed, and where were the cops pulling me over for a WWH (walking while hydrating) then? I’m not alone in noticing a definite trend on campus, one that points towards an increasing police presence with no complementary subsidence of serious crime. It’s hard to make too much out of the slightly outdated stats on the CS dept. website, so I won’t attempt to. But I’d be interested if anyone else were to weigh in on the matter.

Alex is a big fan of seltzer water. He loves it almost as much as Bawls or the club soda from the dining hall. Email him at acoley09@stanford.edu.