THE LAW

When I was 20 or so, I was pulled over in Louisville Kentucky for going 77 in a 55.  It was 1:30 in the morning.  I was alone on the road.  I was heading from New Orleans, LA (where my parents lived) to Ohio State to visit my sister.  I’d left at 5:00 that morning, took an inexplicably stupid incorrect exit halfway through my drive, and drove the entire length of Alabama TO THE GULF OF MEXICO before realizing I was heading south instead of north.  It added EIGHT HOURS to my trip.  By 1:30am, I was no longer feelin’ the drive, and still had miles to go.  Anyway, I was well out of the city on an eight lane highway, so I assumed the speed limit was 65 or 70.  I assumed wrong.  The cop pulled me over, apologized, politely asked for my details, and wrote me a quick ticket.  It was the most appropriate and fair transaction of a speeding ticket I’ve ever had, and gave me unreasonably high expectations for any future encounters with THE LAW.

Several years later, driving another sister to her Pennsylvania college (why did all of us go to college in the north?  Are we crazy?), I ended up in a similar not-paying-attention situation.  This time it was 76 in a 55, on an eight lane highway outside of Norfolk, VA.  Again, I thought it was a 65, but I thought wrong, and the ticket was appropriate.  But the cop was an ass.  He rocked up to my window, I apologized sweetly for speeding, and he went off on a tirade about how had the authority to get me for reckless driving and he just might be of a mind to do it and did I know how dangerous it was to drive so fast and blah blah.  OK, so I was speeding, but I was speeding along with the flow of the rest of the traffic.  I don’t weave.  I don’t obnoxiously tailgate.  His lecture was uncalled for, and annoying.  I wiped my apologetic submissive smile from my face and grimaced at him for the rest of our protracted encounter.  My mother, on the passenger seat beside me, sniffed and mumbled how ridiculous it was that a cop was so desperate to spend time next to a beautiful girl that he had to make up crap about reckless driving.  Aren’t moms great?

Next up.  70 in a 55.  An Ohio country road twisting from Hamilton to Oxford.  I was heading to visit friends at Miami University of OH – it was my 25^th birthday, and they were throwing me a party.  A cop was hiding behind a tree, and as soon as I saw his flashing lights in my rearview, I burst into tears.  I’d like to say it was an actress move, crying on demand, but they were genuine.  I had hardly any money, I’d just been dumped and because of that lost the job I was supposed to take with the ex-boyfriend, and this birthday party was the only good thing that had happened to me in months.  By the time I found a suitable spot to pull into, I was sobbing.  The cop was probably in his early fifties, and looked very fatherly.  He quietly asked where I was going.  “M-m-m-my (sob) b-b-birthday party in Oxford waaaahhhh.”  It was pretty out of control.  I said “I’m s-s-s-so sorry, I j-j-j-just wasn’t p-p-paying attention.”  He checked my license, noted my birthdate was indeed that day, and then gently and kindly told me that I was headed in the wrong direction.  He pointed me the right way to Oxford, and asked me to please slow down.  I gave him the most appreciative and sweet smile I could muster through my tears, and immediately set my cruise control to 55 on the nose.

Next.  Heading from our home in the Raleigh area to a gorgeous wedding in the Outer Banks.  I had a friend in the front seat with me.  The early June weather was mild, and our windows were down.  We were on a 2 lane road at the back of a pack of about 8 cars, and I couldn’t even tell you our speed because I was just following the crowd at a respectable distance.  Talking.  Breezy.  Looking forward to the beach wedding.  Enjoying the beautiful marshy landscape.  We rounded a bend and a cop car was bearing down on us from the other direction.  Normally cop cars cause an instant tap-on-the-brakes reaction from me, but I was so sure that we were all within the law, I didn’t even do that.  When he squealed to a stop, raced INTO a garden to turn around (leaving muddy tracks where the growing vegetables had been), and turned on his lights and siren, I thought – holy cow, there must be an accident or something ahead.  I pulled into the emergency lane, and he pulled past me.  And then.  He pulled over the guy in front of me.  I was puzzled, and I tried to go around, and the cop leapt back into his car, swerved INTO oncoming traffic, and blocked my path, wildly gesturing at me to pull over, too.  Meanwhile oncoming traffic and traffic behind us was starting to get a bit pell mell.  I had to maneuver a bit to get back into the emergency lane.  The friend and I looked at each other, completely nonplussed.  The cop leapt out of his car with the posture of a marine and his trooper hat perched on his shaven head with the strap done just so.  Oh, here we go, I thought.  Cited for 70 in a 55.  Snide, drill sergeant rapid fire comments about how they don’t drive this way in these parts.  He had the tickets written for both of us within about ten seconds – clearly, clearly they were pre-filled.  I later read an article in the New York Times about how it’s been proven that the speeding ticket rate in poorer communities is like 3 times that of more wealthy ones.  I’m pretty sure I funded a budget shortage for the local fire brigade with that one.

Last.  At my current place of employment, during my morning commute, I was pulled over on the main thoroughfare for going a “top speed” of "almost 45" in a 35. For a brief second. While trying to merge into another lane.  The unmarked cop car followed me for several miles after that before pulling me over – I think he was hoping I didn’t know he was back there, and he could get me for more $$ (see above reference to “budget shortage.”)I argued and he "let me off" with a warning. When I explained that I know I wasn’t speeding because I had my cruise control on 37 and was just trying to merge into an available hole in the traffic, he glanced at the address on my license and said "Maybe ya’ll are allowed to drive crazy like that down where ya’ll live, but that ain’t the way we do things up here in Roxboro**."  The towns are 30 miles apart.

In conclusion.  Pulled over 5 times.  Ticketed 3 of them.  Two relatively positive experiences, three extremely annoying ones.  And that is about the extent of my brush with THE LAW.  So far . . .

**THAT SAME WEEK IN ROXBORO – a technician who was visiting our company from Germany was mugged. Black eye, wallet stolen, kicked in the ribs, the whole deal. The police were unavailable to investigate, and the German went home with a great impression of the U.S.  Also, the secondhand store where I go to buy furniture on occasion was broken into. Window broken, blood all over the window and floor, bloody fingerprints on the cash register. The police. Said the blood. Was ketchup. The lady had spilled some ketchup on her broken window and then stepped in it and then got it on her fingers and then got it all over her cash register, and she’d never been robbed at all, according to the stellar detectives. So there was no need to take fingerprints, or shoe prints, or even pictures. Good day ma’am, and stop causing trouble for us. We’re way too busy pulling people over to deal with this.  Sometimes, I just can’t believe this place.