Wednesday, June 21, 2006

You can take the boy out of Catholicism, but you can't...

I'm driving to the mall earlier today to buy some shoes.

My mind wanders a little. I head to the passing lane.

There's the motorcycle cop, waiting in the median. He points at me. He points at the curb.

I look at my spedometer. I'm going 70. The speed limit is 60.

Shit.

Well, that's the way it goes. I don't speed much, but it seems like every time I do, I get caught.

There's not a lot of room to stop, so I wind up pulling over about 30 yards in front of the cop. He appears to be busy with a car back by the motorcycle...taking his license, giving him a ticket, talking to him. If I drive away, well, I'm going to the slammer.

Best just to keep him happy. I get out my license. I get out my registration, my proof of insurance. I turn off the radio. I wait patiently.

The car behind me drives away. The cop walks up to me, all friendly like.

Hey, man, how are you doing?
I'm okay.
Were you doing anything wrong?
I was going 70.
Wow. I appreciate your honesty. I was pulling over the guy behind you. Give me your license, and I'll give you a warning.

We both laughed heartily. My laugh was one of relief. His was likely one of ridicule, but hey, I'll take it.

I appreciate your honesty, he repeated as I drove away.

I passed him again on the way home...he'd moved to the other side of the median to nail south-bound cars. You can REST ASSURED I was going 60. More like 58. This'll scare me straight for a while.

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