Rexburg, Idaho — You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Usually, the sight of those flashing red and blue lights is enough to halt my breath and trigger a whole host of involuntary responses ranging from slamming on the brake to locking my hands on the steering wheel.

Today, however, when those lights lit the night sky like an earthbound Bat Signal, I was all adrenaline and grins.

What made the difference? Simply the car in which I was sitting, and on which side of those lights I was.

Tonight I had the chance to ride in a police car as part of my Intro to Journalism class at BYU-Idaho. For an hour and a half, I rode shotgun with a policeman.

When I arrived at the police station, I was surprised to see that the officer with whom I was assigned was none other than Aaron Smith, whose father had been both my bishop of my home ward and the branch president of my singles' branch — and who had already pulled me over at least once back when he worked in my hometown, Rigby.

My expectations rode high when Officer Smith looked me square in the eye and said, "Here are the rules. Whatever I say, do it. If I say stay here, stay here. If I say get out and go over there, do it."

Yeah, I was hoping for a shootout or something.

I looked around the front seat, searching for some indication that tonight was gong to be full of action-packed car chases and fugitive gun battle. I glimpsed an old mp3 player, a half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew in the cupholder, several tins of lip balm, and a pile of pennies scattered on the floor.

"Let's do this," I said, my notebook gripped firmly in my hand.

Twenty minutes later, our night was still depressingly devoid of any life-threatening situations, though I'd learned that Officer Smith, in his eleven-year career, had once — if you can believe such a tall tale — almost had to draw his gun once.

We pulled over three people — one for speeding, one for failure to turn the lights on, and one for a lack of a license plate.

"We run these plates through the database," Officer Smith explained, his radio in one hand, the dispatcher on the other end. "We can find out if they're carrying an expired license or if they're wanted for murder or anything."

I knew which one I was hoping for.

Sadly, as Officer Smith returned to the car and the speeder went on his merry way, my hopes were dashed.

I watched the mean streets of Rexburg fly by my window as Officer Smith received a call from his family and spent ten minutes planning a weekend getaway to Yellowstone.

"Never drive and talk on your cell phone," he told me with a grin. "It's a bad habit."

Finally, the night came to an end and Officer Smith apologized for the lack of action. "Usually, we're getting all kinds of calls — loud parties, domestic disturbances, alcohol — tonight was just a dead night."

I shrugged. Would I have traded this night for a high-speed ride-along in LA or south DC? Probably not, because that would mean I would have to go home afterward without the protection of a cop in the seat next to me.

Hmm ... maybe next time I'll witness a brutal gunfight. Until then, though, I'll sleep safely in my bed, knowing that my boredom on a Tuesday night school assignment is my safety on any night.