A wave of nausea came over me when I spotted the blue flashing lights in my rear view mirror. “Shit,” was my involuntary outburst. I glanced down to spot a number around 80. I clicked my blinker to signal my guilt. I prepared to meet the guy who just got one closer to his ticket goal for the month.

Just two days before, I drove along this same, newly paved, straight highway with minimal traffic. The sky was blue with Cesar’s Palace white puffy clouds; the sun was out; my favorite tunes were playing as I sang along. When I glanced down at my speedometer on that glorious day, I spotted a number around 90. Uh oh, that’s too fast – even for me. I slowed down to 80, which generally kept pace with the rest of the traffic on this highway that you can’t not go faster than the posted signs, no matter how hard you try. My thoughts went to how lucky I’ve been to be driving on this parkway for the last three years on my way to and from work without once getting stopped for speeding. There were a lot of cops sitting along this route, but they always had someone else pulled over or were too involved with something to bother with me. I couldn’t help but feel it was going to be my turn in the barrel soon.

And so it was.

“Why were you driving so fast?” asked Trooper Alverez as he looked in my passenger-side window. His height barely reached the top of the window opening but his width pretty much filled it in. I had a split second to size him up and set the tone of my answer that would give me the greatest possibility of avoiding a ticket.  The list of characters I’ve portrayed before way too many times I’ve been in this situation was long, so I stalled a second. Apologetic? Terrorized? Disbeliever? Comedian?  Verge of tears?

Although each of these worked in the past, and more than once by the way, none of them would probably work with this dude. So I played the sympathy card thinking that since he’s likely been teased all his life for being short and fat, we’d have an instant common bond and he’d be somewhat understanding.  “Well, sir, I was concentrating so hard on how to solve this difficult personnel problem at work that I wasn’t paying attention to my speed.” I said in my best pity-me-please; I’m not a bad person, I just did a bad thing voice.  “Let us see your license and proof of insurance,” he said flatly as if his girth allowed him to refer to himself in the plural.  

My license was in my bag in the back seat, so it took some gymnastics to retrieve it. He was getting hot and bored and probably hungry when I finally handed it to him.  “Let me check this out while you find your insurance,” he said before waddling back to his squad car where the air conditioning was turned on to the max setting, I’m guessing. This was the critical wait. Since I’ve been through this before (have I mentioned that?) I knew that I would either get a ticket that would ruin my day or get a sermon about how I really need to slow down and be more careful, which would make my day. At that very instant, I became religious and prayed for a sermon.

After a rather long wait as he ran my name through the process to see if I was a criminal he would need to call backup for, he returned with the bad news. “I’m citing you for going 81 in a 60 mile-per-hour zone. That comes with 4 points added to your record. You have some options. One option is to request a court hearing, which I would not recommend.” At this point he took the time to look at me for emphasis while shaking his head  back and forth.  But I swear he was chewing something , so he must have grabbed a snack in his car while waiting for my name to go through the most-wanted-list. “You can also choose to attend a driver improvement course, which will eliminate the 4 points from your license and your insurance will not increase.”

“Oh, so you’re probably recommending that one, right?” I said kinda smiling and trying to get some human reaction from Trooper Short-round, who was obviously also having a bad day. He looked at me in kinda a bad way, but he did offer a shoulder shrug and maybe a grin when he said, “Weeeellll, that’s probably a better option. The third option is to pay the fine as shown here.” Without my glasses, I couldn’t read the fine, nor did I want to.

“Tell me about the class. Can you take it on-line?” I asked, knowing damn well that was an option since I’ve been down this road before—pun intended. “Yes, there are many options on line for the class, but you must take it within 30 days and submit the certificate to show you completed it.” “OK, thank you sir.” I said in the most convincing voice I could muster. “You’re welcome,” he responded as if my thanks were offered seriously. “Now slow down, please!

— END —