I got a speeding ticket this weekend.
Fricking 45 in a 30.
I hadn’t been pulled over since 2000, so this was an unwelcome suprise for me , particularly since I don’t really have an “income” at the moment. I’m stuck in that limbo where I’ve started a job but must now wait three weeks to be paid. Fortunately, I’ve managed to survive the past two weeks by eating carpet fibers and loose leaf paper. Suffice to say, this $130 ticket did little to allay my financial woes.
I was a little rusty in my technique in getting out of the ticket. The officer who pulled me over was a meaty, mustachioed individual who was firm, yet a supple tenderness was evident in his eyes. Were I a woman, I would simply have begun to cry. I have heard that this works well for women (unless you’re an ugly woman, in which case the officer is likely to increase your fine). Initially I tried to hold the officer’s hand as I spoke to him. He was responsive to this for a while as I caressed the firm muscles at the base of his thumb while explaining why I had committed this crime. When he began to pull away and hand the red-striped paper to me, I then attempted another tactic. I told him that if he could solve my riddle, then I would accept the ticket and pay my fine – but if he was unable to answer my riddle he would have to tear the ticket up and buy me a dinner of lobster and muffins.
I then asked him, “What’s black, white, and red all over and can’t fit through a revolving door?”
After a short pause, he wisely posited, “A nun with a javelin through her torso.”
The officer had bested me, and I was man enough to admit it. I took the ticket, and after a brief hug we parted ways. This man had graced his uniform well and he deserved his victory. My bruises from the baton-beating he mournfully administered to me have now begun to heal, and time hurries on. I do believe that I will dearly miss that wonderful man.