Who Me, Officer?
As I was driving home from Mom’s a few days ago, I rounded a curve and saw that some poor schmuck had been pulled over by a cop.
Probably speeding, and although I felt sympathy for the hapless driver – (I’ve always loved that word -‘hapless’- who is that guy, and why has he no hap?) – but I was also secretly relieved that the cop was thereby occupied. Because it could have been me.
Yeah, I was zipping right along.
When my husband does it, it’s speeding. And I ALWAYS point this out to him in my gentle wifely way. As in: “For Chrissakes, slow the fuck down!”
(By the way, a couple of people who have reviewed my book on Amazon liked the book but said I had too much bad language. I had to go back and look through the book again. Obviously living with my husband for all these years has had an effect. Because I didn’t really notice any bad language.)
As I was saying… when my husband does it, it’s called speeding. When I do it, it’s called zipping right along.
I think it’s perfectly okay to zip right along if it’s a road you’re very familiar with. You know the road so well. You won’t make a mistake. And yeah, I’ve seen a bear run across that road, but come on, how often does that happen?
Years ago, a co-worker came to work a bit late and extremely irritated, because he got stopped and ticketed for zipping right along. The cop didn’t call it zipping right along though. He called it 88 in a 45 zone.
But what really made my friend angry is the unfairness of his ticket. Because his sister was stopped in the very same town just the week before (she’s a very zippy driver) and got off with a warning.
“It’s just WRONG!” He shouted in my office, and not in his inside voice. “My sister has been stopped a zillion times and she never gets a ticket! And you know why? Because she’s pretty. That’s why!”
I actually have never been stopped for speeding. But I did worm my way out of a ticket once. And it was a good thing I didn’t have to rely on my looks, as I had an unfortunate perm, oversized glasses, and linebacker shoulder pads back then.
1977 – Not going to get out of a ticket on my looks.
I was on my way to work. There was a busy intersection where I had to make a left-hand turn. The cars were always backed up because there was no left-hand arrow on the light, and the traffic was so steady that you had to wait for the light to turn yellow and sneak through if you could. Cars were always backed up trying to find that small break to turn left. Often several cars would try to get through on the yellow.
On this particular day, I was last in a string of five cars trying to get through the yellow light and not be stuck waiting for another cycle.
And sure enough, after I went through, there was a cop waiting there – pointing at me to pull over.
Who, Me? I gestured with a big questioning innocent shrug.
Yeah, You. he responded with a head nod and a smirk.
The cop came over to the car and after the usual stuff I knew from Adam-12 (“License and registration, please”), he said in an almost friendly way, “I could have stopped about 3 cars ahead of you – the light was that red. What’s the hurry? Are you late for work?”
“Yeah. I’m running a little late,” I said as convincingly and sweetly as I could. “I was hoping to make up some time.”
“How late are you?” he asked.
“Four hours,” I said.
And he let me go.
2014 – zipping right along.
- Posted in: Aging ♦ Humor ♦ Memories
- Tagged: Driving, running a red light, speeding, speeding tickets
notquiteold 
What do you mean too much bad language??? It made the effing book!
LikeLike
Well, when I thought about it later, I figured that Shannon was a very bad influence on me.
LikeLike
If you haven’t already posted a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads, I would love it if you would.
LikeLike
I think the language was all a part of Shannon. Without it, she would not have been the same. The book is still fab in my eyes!
LikeLike
Thanks… I am so glad you liked it. Would you consider posting a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads, if you have not already done so? Good reviews really help, and I would so appreciate it.
LikeLike
I started the book yesterday (finally). I have not noticed any bad language, what the fuck is bad language anyway? I think so far your grammar, punctuation and use of ‘to, too, two and there, their’ and other confusing words is perfect.
Some people, they are simply far too sensitive.
As for tickets, well I have been stopped a few times over the years. I tend to zip.
LikeLike
Ah, Nancy you batted your eyelashes and the cop couldn’t help himself. 😛
LikeLike
Not then behind those big glasses – but I could do that NOW. I have a new mascara that is amazing! I have eyelashes! I thank God every day for cosmetics.
LikeLike
Oh, and contact lenses. God Bless contact lenses.
LikeLike
Oh contact lenses. They were my best friend for 35 years and then my eyes wouldn’t tolerate them. That was 10 years ago and I am still in morning (and stupid glasses!).
LikeLike
sorry, mourning, not morning…….good thing I didn’t edit your effing book.
LikeLike
aren’t speed limits just suggestions anyhow? that’s my theory and I am sticking to it… DAF
LikeLike
Suggestions for the very very cautious who has never ever been on that particular road…
LikeLiked by 1 person
My nice-looking sister has flirted her way out of tickets before, I’m sure. I think the only reason I never got stopped is because I’ve always had stodgy cars that looked like they couldn’t go all that fast anyway. (My first car was a 1957 Rambler…) Or maybe I really do look like my driver’s license picture. Oh, no!
LikeLike
I once avoided a ticket because a nice motorist pulled along side saying there was an accident up ahead. The cop said he would let me go this time and rushed off. I went in the same direction as the cop and there was no accident. The good samaritan did me a bigger favor than he knew. The cop had stopped me for rolling through a stop sign instead of coming to a complete stop. But he stopped me on a hill, and I had to keep my foot on the brake because the old car I was driving had no emergency brake. But with my foot on the brake, I couldn’t reach the glove compartment for the registration or my purse for my license. And if he really looked at the car he would have seen that a tin can was holding the muffler together and there was no outside handle on the passenger door. He might not have let me drive it home.
LikeLike
Oh my goodness! I thought I was the only one in 1977 with large plastic brown glasses, bad hair and a short sleeve sweater over long sleeves. We are soul sisters. 🙂 Love it. And this post.
LikeLike
It all changes when things start sagging and bloating. Getting out of tickets use to be my “Super Power”. Now I have no power.
LikeLike
And you didn’t even have to cry! Pretty zippy time!
LikeLike