I’d like to think I am a decent driver. Actually, scratch that. Let me toot my own horn (ha ha) for a second and say that compared to most of the people in the town where I live, I’m an excellent fucking driver. You wanna know why? Aside from the obvious answer of not driving while under the influence, which is (sadly) an activity some people don’t refrain from around here (the statistics are frightening), how about the following:
- I actually use my turn signal. This seems to be a problem for half of the people that live here.
- I never drive with a cell phone in one hand while steering, swiggin’ a cup of Starbucks and tuning the radio with the other.
- I don’t see a light changing from yellow to red as a sign that I should floor it and go anyway unless I’m already in the intersection and need to get the hell out of the way.
- I don’t think I own the road. I pick a lane and stick with it. I drive like I know where the fuck I’m going (chances are, I do). I don’t vary my speed anywhere from 20-40 MPH in a 30 MPH zone because I’m distracted by something, be it the other people in the car, our town’s in-fucking-credible scenery (which doesn’t exist), or that cell phone as mentioned above. I tend to keep my eyes on the road as much as possible. And I don’t signal only half a millisecond before I turn so the people behind me wonder why the hell I’ve been slowing down. (Right-hand turning lanes are not as common here as they are in decently-planned communities, so this is a problem.) And if I am putting up with someone who’s driving like a dildo, I try to get the hell out of the way without being a dick about it.
So taking all of that into account, I feel I can honestly say that I am a good, defensive driver. I do my part to avoid reckless driving and keep myself (and others) safe. But no one’s perfect, and I proved that today.
This happened, of course, while I was on my way to my first final exam for the semester this afternoon. Naturally, this wasn’t just any ol’ exam; this one was a biggie. It was a project involving all of the class that was a one-shot deal: we all had a part in making the whole thing work, and if any one of us flubbed our part bad enough, we all failed as a class for lack of preparedness. Just a little pressure involved.
Feeling a little keyed up and wanting to feel as prepared as possible, I started mentally rehearsing my part – which was asking a set of questions – on the drive over. I remember running my mind through each question, making sure I was explaining it in enough detail while keeping it brief. I also remember feeling satisfied with the structure of my questions as I turned onto the street that leads to the campus, and then I saw the flashing lights on top of the car behind me.
What did I do?
I pulled over, looked at the clock and mentally shit myself. My final was going to start in less than five minutes. I was less than sixty seconds away from entering that class, and now I was going to miss it because I was being pulled over. As I put my license and registration together, I mentally composed the entry I would post to to fmylife.com when this was all over. It went something like this:
Today, I was on my way to my final exam when I got pulled over. Not only did I get a ticket, but I was late for my exam, which means I failed it because no one was let into the classroom after it started. The exam is worth half of my grade, so I failed the class and now I won’t graduate on time. FML.
All of the above is true with the exception of getting a ticket; that was merely an assumption on my part at the time. Without passing this class, I won’t graduate with my certificate in addictionology this summer. Since the university I’ll start attending this fall doesn’t offer anything in addictionology, it’s kind of a “do it now or never” type of deal. Anyway, I digress.
The bald-headed police officer approached my window.
Keeping my nerves in check ultimately failed when I blurted out, “Hi…uh, what did I do?”
My lack of formality didn’t phase him. “I am pulling you over because you didn’t stop at that sign back there. He was referring to the four-way stop a couple of blocks away.
“I didn’t?” This had to have sounded so naive, but I honestly don’t remember what I did at that intersection. My mind must have been running through questions more intently than it should have. What I suspect happened was that I slowed way down, saw that no one was coming, and went through without ever coming to a complete stop. The fact that I was too distracted to actually remember what I did meant I deserved whatever was coming to me.
Also naively, I said, “I’m really sorry. I must have not been paying enough attention.” For whatever reason, I blurted out, “It figures I’d do something like this now. I have a final exam in about three minutes.”
“A final, huh?” He looked at his watch. “Starting at five?”
I nodded and gestured toward the campus. “Yep. And it’s my own damn fault I’ll probably miss it.” This was filled with a lot less self-pity than it seems; I was actually stating it matter-of-factly, acknowledging that I had messed up. No sense in denying it, right?
He asked with genuine interest, “What happens if you miss it?”
“I fail.”
He nodded. “May I see your license and registration?” I handed it to him. He took a quick look and then said, “Do you have any warrants out for your arrest?”
“No sir.”
He gave me a kind-hearted smile and said, “Well, I’ll look into that and if you do, I’ll pull you out of class. But in the meantime, I’ll let you go for now.”
A small wave of shock went through me. No ticket? Not even a hint of the “intimidating big bad cop to scare the little girl” routine? This guy was genuinely being nice when he didn’t have to?
Still shocked, I replied, “Oh man, THANK YOU.” Secretly, I wanted to say, “OH, FUCK YEAH! You are the most awesome cop that has ever pulled me over! No wait, I don’t mean it like that! I mean, you are insanely nice for letting this one slide. Thankyousir, thankyousir, I cannot even tell you how much this means to me right now.” Fortunately, good taste prevailed and I refrained. The look of relief on my face must have said enough because he half-smiled, nodded, told me to “be more careful at those stop signs,” and walked back to his car.
The final exam was a breeze once my nerves calmed down.
Officer A (sorry, but I don’t remember your entire last name, only that it started with A), I owe you one, sir. I’m just another schmuck that made an absent-minded mistake and you could’ve let me have it. You could have, but you didn’t. On top of that, you didn’t think I was making up a stupid excuse to get out of a ticket when I said I was on my way to a final exam. You could have because I’m sure you hear stupid, dramatic shit from people all the time. But you didn’t. So again, thank you, and I promise I’ll be a more mindful driver from now on. And I’ll show my friends this blog post if they talk shit about cops without a good reason. :)
