The first time was when I was 17 and was driving at least 10 miles over the speed limit on a two-lane road in the smallish town that my dad lived in. When the sirens went on, I looked down at my Metallica T-shirt and knew I was getting a ticket (not specifically because of the shirt, but more because I knew I looked like a stupid teenager, which I was). The worst part of that ordeal was that I had to tell my parents because they paid my insurance. The whole "I'm so disappointed in you" thing was way worse than paying the ticket.
In retrospect, they really should have celebrated the fact that I'd been driving an entire year without incident, because the very next day I had my first fender bender, but I digresss...
Flash forward to today. I had been waiting for the carpet measuring guy to call so I could go meet him at our old house, where we have to replace the carpet after the former renters' animals ruined it. I'd been given a two-hour window, and when he finally called, he said he'd be there in 10 minutes. I quickly shuffled my kids next door to my mom's house (a huge advantage of living next to grandma) and peeled out of the driveway.
As I drove toward my old house on autopilot, I was pondering how exactly we were going to pay our bills next month if we didn't find new renters very soon (this is a common source of anxiety for me lately). Then I remembered that we still have a hutch/buffet thing that we paid way too much money for when we bought that house, but which is in great shape and sitting in the dining room there, which I'd been meaning to sell and which, if sold, could at least cover the mortgage on that house for a month. I think I was mentally writing the craigslist ad when I saw the squad car perched on the side of the freeway.
Of course, I laid off the accelerator immediately and prayed for the invisibility powers of the minivan to save me. Usually they do. Today, not so much.
We went through the usual "Do you know why I pulled you over today?" charade during which I asked, "Was I speeding?" you know, just in case maybe there was some other reason he pulled me over. I surprised myself by not even wanting to cry, I was so worried that the measuring guy was going to leave and I'd have to wait another week and that I wouldn't make my end-of-the-month deadline for getting the house ready for those elusive renters who I am sure will materialize any minute now.
So I got a ticket, which sucks, but is fair. I figure that one ticket every 15 years for how often I probably speed is really more than fair. I had been polite and didn't argue, so I guess I felt it was unnecessary for the officer to slip in a mini-lecture about the dangers of speeding, referencing my two empty carseats in the back in an effort to strike fear into my heart. Rather than causing me to feel ashamed, this made me a little mad. Let me just get the damn ticket without the lecture, please.
I'm not saying he's wrong - of course, speeding is dangerous and does kill people - I guess I'm just saying that I don't accept guilt trips from strangers.
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