|So, so familiar|
I have already mentioned that I had a hugely busy day of work yesterday, and add to that the fact that I had a brand new set of clothes to choose from whilst getting ready for work. (This has been a common theme for me lately. Being late because of outfit choices. I am forever searching for something that fits to wear to work. Note to self: stop buying swim suits. You cannot wear those to work.) So I get on the road five minutes late and have to stop and get gas (again, a common theme in my life). I decide I can make up a little bit of time on the road and commence with my usual ignoring of the speed limit. A mere ten minutes on the road, and a sweet little state trouper is informing me that not only was I speeding, but also that I was going 77 in a 55. And, please note, that I have some cases of adult beverage in my back seat for the lake trip. Awesome. He was sweet enough to write me a ticket for 68 in a 55, so as not to have to haul my ass to jail. Thank you, Officer Hawk Eye.
So, here's my history of speeding tickets. I hear about people "getting out" of them all the time, but I simply never acquired that skill. (I'm shocked too. I'm a hot, young thang and can usually talk myself into or out of anything.) The first ticket I ever received was when I was returning to Lexington after my first visit home from college. My roomies in tow, I figured we'd see just how quickly we could make it back. When the officer stopped me to give me a ticket, I remained stoic and never looked him in the eye (I can't explain that), and then the second he drove away, I burst into tears and refuse to speak for the next three hours. And, my theory is, that since I blew my first shot at "getting out" of it, I will never, ever be able to do that. But I was determined to try.
|Why, thank you for pointing out how dangerous it is to speed. I had no idea.|
The next time I was pulled over was while on Frederica Street in Owensboro. I had absolutely no good reason to be speeding, but I was going 50 in a 35 in lunch-time traffic. This cop pulled me over to ask why I was doing just that. This is how that went:
Me: Sir, it's an emergency. I was on the phone with my mom, who has back problems, and she told me to come home right now, and then my phone died. I'm scared she has fallen and hurt herself.
Copper: I understand, what's your address, and I'll get an ambulance there immediately.
Me: Oh, you're not gonna wanna do that, sir, I'm lying.
Copper: That's what I thought. I'll be right back with your ticket.
|Oh, that's how you do it!!|
After that, I realized lying was not always the best policy, so I've learned to politely give the men in uniform my license, note that I'm wearing my seat belt, and say thank you when they--always--give me my ticket. I am becoming quite popular among the police in Kentucky, as I have been pulled over by the same cop three times (in a row, within about two months), there was a stretch of about five years when I went to traffic school once a year, and because I'm primarily responsible for paying their salaries with the fines I remit. Part of me wants to sit down and add up how much I--or Pete Clark, sorry, Daddy--have spent on speeding tickets in the last twelve years, but I'm afraid I'd throw up and vow never to drive again. For now, I'm going to at least try to slow down and lighten my lead foot just a little. That is, until the next time I'm five minutes late to work...