Speeding ticket, kids, NOT lottery ticket.
I had JUST merged onto the highway and cut left across four lanes in one fell swoop. And I figured I’d go into the HOV lane because it was totally empty so that I could pass the herd in front of me. But as it’s difficult to pass people who are going 75 mph, I HAD to punch down the gas harder than they were, right?
Well, now that’s the fun part. I was just about to pass four cars when — oh, now this is priceless — a Maryland state trooper WALKED INTO MY LANE AND WAVED ME OVER TO THE LEFT SHOULDER. Yes, walked out in front of me. On the interstate. Where I was clocked at 86 mph.
Well, 86 AFTER I slammed on the brake.
*sigh*
This was at the beginning of a 250-mile round-trip rendezvous to see my family for lunch.
I’m hardly mad about it — I’ve had this coming for YEARS. When folks at work bid goodnight and say, “Drive carefully — stay away from the crazies,” I have to remind them, “I AM one of those crazies.”
But it sucks now that I have to watch my speed and live with assholes tailgating me because I’m now only going 10 miles above the speed limit and not, well, 36. On a good day.
I admit, I was lost in thought, as I am apt to do behind the wheel. I was chilling to Portishead (right-click, save as. You know the drill) and just kind of dreaming out the window when I saw the state trooper staring me down and waving me to the shoulder.
Going from 86 (plus) to zero within 10 feet was quite an accomplishment — even though my brakes are only a year old, they sound tragic … hence why I don’t use them altogether that often. 😉
But here’s the catch. The patrol car? Was on the OTHER SIDE of the highway. I was going north; the car was pointed south. He had to HOP THE FUCKING CONCRETE DIVIDER to come after my ass.
I handed over my license (that doesn’t have the correct address) and my registration (which doesn’t have the correct license plate) and hoped for the best. And wonderfully, even though I have been pulled over MANY times, I hadn’t actually yet gotten a ticket (till today), so no points on the license. w00t!
Better yet — and I totally thank my new black push-up bra and low-cut camisole that is miraculously the same shade of green as my eyes — he lessened my fee a bit. The only other shining highlight to the humiliation was that he wasn’t one of those jagoffs who likes to ask you if you knew how fast you were going.
Because, and the answer is obvious and say it with me:
Not. Fast. Enough!!!!