I Allowed an Arrogant Sheriff to Put Me in Handcuffs Without Fighting Back, Determined to See How Far He Would Misuse His Power

right beside me lay a stiff, black bifold credential case emblazoned with the Great Seal of the United States, bearing the signature of the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court and my judicial identification.  "I am not resisting," I repeated calmly, keeping my gaze locked on the small paper napkin dispenser between the ketchup bottle and the salt shaker. "My hands are where you can see them. I have committed no offense, and you have not asked for my name or my identification."  "I don't need your damn name," Voss grunted, twisting my right arm up behind my shoulder blades with unnecessary, vicious force.  A sharp, tearing pain radiated through my shoulder socket down into my elbow. The metal ratchet clicked—one, two, three vicious notches—cutting deep into the tender skin of my wrists until I felt the hot, prickling bite of pinched nerves. I didn't give him the satisfaction of a groan. When you spend years presiding