I tried to avoid the ClusterConstruction that is now Highway 94, and I took the back way to work Friday. I was tooling along happily (drugs!) listening to Carbon leaf (rock and roll) and I saw a motorcycle cop up ahead. Zoom! I whizzed past the officer. "He's out here looking for some teenagers to catch," I thought cheerfully, "So they can raise revenue for the Cluster. I just learned that for Series 7. Hey. He's following me now. He can't be following ME. What? Flashing lights!? No way! I'm TOO OLD to be pulled over for speeding."
"Hello!" I chirped, "I must have been speeding!" He didn't look at me. I smiled at the thought of his face when he looked at me and my middle-aged self.
He looked right at me. "License and registration."
Handed that right over. I thought about calling him "Sir," then, "Why would I call this child sir? I could be his mother. Besides, he's going to laugh when he looks me up and sees my spotless reputation."
Still, he came back from looking me up and gave me (ME) a citation for going 55 in a 40 mph zone. "Ha!" I thought, "What's that going to cost? Three lattes?" And it struck me, as I cheerfully accepted my ticket, that this whole experience would have destroyed me before I turned forty. I remember apologizing tearfully to traffic cops for rolling stops, or going to traffic court and announcing my guilt. (Though Friend #3 says there's something you can do where you pay some strip mall people and your guilt is washed away, as if it never happened. She also claims there will be a big insurance hit if I don't. Really? I'm forty-six!)
His parting words were, "That's your speedometer. Use it."
I laughed a big belly laugh and thanked him, then I tooled off, even happier than before.