I Got Here As Fast I Could!

I really freakin' hate Mondays. Nothing good ever seems to happen on Mondays. In fact, my experience dictates that Mondays go out of their way to serve up a healthy dose of sadness and despair, and sometimes are feeling a little more aggressive and administer a nice Monday Morning Ass Whooping. Last Monday, I got my ass whooped: I got my first speeding ticket.

I had to make a trip to a nearby town first thing in the morning to visit a car dealership for my ad sales job. We all know how much I loooove car salesmen (ha) and trying to sell an advertising to a salesman is tricky. It's a total game of who can make the biggest power play (ultimately it is me, as I am the one who has boobs) and on a Monday morning I was certainly not bringing my A-game. I was driving down the road, busy feeling sorry for myself and dreading going to the second car dealership, when I came around a bend and saw a cop car in a parking lot on my side of the road.

It was one of those moments where you just instantly know you are screwed. He didn't waste any time whipping out behind me and turning on those dreaded flashing blues. As I pulled over, the first thought I had that didn't contain a large string of expletives was, "Ohmigod, you have to start crying." I proceeded to think of everything sad that I could, but nothing. I watched a middle-aged cop get out of his car, hike up his pants, and saunter over to me.

I had always imagined what I would do if I got pulled over for speeding. One option was to blame it on female issues in the hopes of making the cop so uncomfortable that he just had to let me go on my merry way. The other front runner idea was to blame the high speed on trying to get to a restroom due to digestive issues. It would take a pretty heartless person to not sympathize with that, right?

But nope. I completely choked. He went through the standard procedure of spending an absurd amount of time asking me stupid questions and taking my license back to his squad car to spend as long as possible sitting there with his lights on so that everyone passing by knows that he means business. After waiting for what felt like a million humiliating years, he strolled back up to my window with ticket in hand.

And I burst into tears.

I could tell Officer Monday Morning Ass-Wooping was totally thrown as he came back to someone he had left fairly composed now blubbering like a headcase. He explained the ticket to me as I thought to myself, "Dammit, tears! You couldn't appear just a little earlier? Fat load of help to me now, you bastards."

As he handed me that cursed piece of paper, he gave me this awkward look and asked, "Are you okay, m'am? Are you experiencing some sort of personal crisis?"

I looked at him blankly, biting my tongue as to not say, "OF COURSE I AM EXPERIENCING A PERSONAL CRISIS! YOU ARE GIVING ME A SPEEDING TICKET YOU IMBECILE!"

But I just shook my head and he peaced out pretty quickly. And fittingly, now that the waterworks started there was no turning it off. I pulled into a gas station parking lot to cry and sulk, then thought I had reached a point where I could call my dad.

"Dad, you are going to kill me," I said before bursting into tears again. (Really, the female issues thing may not have been too far from the truth.) Luckily he wasn't too angry, as he pointed out that now that I was married I got to pay my own fine. Fantastic.

Fast forward to Saturday, when I visited Canton and was riding in the car with my parents while ironically enough discussing my speeding ticket debacle.

"You know what I should have done?" I joked. "I should have just let him walk up and been like, 'I am sorry officer- I got here as fast I could!"

Not five minutes later, we turn a corner to a cop car just waiting to catch some prey.

"Oh, dad," I said as the cop pulled behind us with his lights on. My dad let loose of several of the expletives I had gotten to know so intimately just a few days beforehand as he pulled into a parking lot. Apparently it was the PoPo's lucky day because we were not alone- he had somehow managed to pull two cars over. He walked up to our car.

"Sir, do you know what the speeding limit is on this road?" he asked.

"Thought it was forty-five," my dad said defensively.

"No, sir, it is thirty-five miles per hour. Even if it were forty-five, you were still speeding."

I wasn't sure what move my dad was going to make- profuse apology? Disbelief? But he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "Sorry!"

"Oh, man," I said as the cop visited his other catch. "You are in trouble now. Now what were we talking about? Safe driving?"

Too soon. Dad was not amused.

We waited that everlong period of time while the cop does whatever he does, and finally he approached again.

"Sir, today I am going to let you off with a warning, but pay attention from now on," the officer said. My jaw dropped. After my dad made a little we're-totally-cool-now-because-you-didn't-give-me-a-ticket small talk, we finally continued on our way.

"What the hell?!" I said angrily. "How is that even fair? I can't believe you got off with a warning after totally giving him 'tude!"

"Well, I, unlike you, have not had a speeding ticket since 1984 and am not twenty-two," my dad said, spirits considerably lifted from a few minutes beforehand."Good day, isn't it?"

Hmph.