Breaking the Law

You bet there's a story brewing here (I can't say that in any other voice than Sarah Palin's). I had an elaborate story all pieced together in my mind before I got home today, no doubt fueled by adrenaline. However, a few hours and a blinding headache later, none of the words I'm coming up with sound quite right. This is as close as I could get to the original.

Anyone who knows me also knows I have a lead foot. I've unfortunately paid hundreds of dollars in speeding tickets and have been pulled over more times than I can count. This prompted my husband to jokingly (or not so much?) ask when I was getting a second job to pay for my tickets and beg me to start using the cruise control.

One afternoon when I was 21, I was racing home so I could relax a little before work the next day. I flew into town at 15 miles an hour over the speed limit.

There won't be any cops around, I figured. It's Sunday.

As I came up over a hill I met a cop car. Of course. Immediately he flipped his cherries on. Dadgummit. Adrenaline shot through me. I had just put all new tires on my Honda. I can't afford a ticket!

Looking in my rearview mirror I could see brake lights disappearing over the hill. He's turning around. Hide hide hide.

Impulsively I took a hard right turn onto the first street I saw, jammed the accelerator to the floor, and whipped a hard left turn. Will I go to jail if he finds me? No, just pull over right away. Can I explain to him why I'm driving like a crazy person? Nope. Better make it count.

I zig-zagged my way across town until I finally reached the parking lot behind my apartment building. I bailed out of the car, raced up the steps, and locked myself in my apartment for the rest of the night. How long would they look for me? Was Grandma hearing this on her scanner? She'd be happy to know she no longer lived with a fugitive-to-be. How many little white Honda Accords are there in town? Maybe I should put a blanket over my car? No, that would look suspicious.

The next morning I warily crept out onto the back porch overlooking the parking lot. Surveying my car, there didn't seem to be a boot on it, or a ticket, or any sign of the 5-0. I think I'm gonna be ok.

Later that day at work a couple officers came in. I almost had a heart attack. I hid under my desk. A friend sitting next to me finally motioned that I could come up; they were looking for a couple other guys that worked there. This was a telemarketing call center, after all, and visits from the police were pretty common.

In 2009, which I consider the last year of my stupid-youth-years, was the second to last time I was pulled over. I was running late for work because I had a couple little guys at home who didn't want Mama to leave. I was nervous, not wanting to get in trouble for being late, and smoking a cigarette to help calm me. I came into town about 5 miles an hour over the speed limit. I was just a couple blocks from work when the police Charger pulled out behind me, lights flashing.

I always get adrenaline rushes when I get pulled over, and pile that on the nerves I already had about being late and I probably looked as at-ease as someone who has just knocked over a bank.

The initial reason I was pulled over was soon washed away by an extensive interrogation in regard to the type of smoke the officer was smelling. As many times as I insisted it was Camel Lights, he came back insisting for me not to lie to him, he knew what it was, and I'd be in much less trouble if I just told the truth. He threatened to call the drug dog and he would "tear my vehicle apart." "Don't lie to me, ma'am," was repeated every other sentence. I gave him my pack of cigarettes which he dug around in and sniffed before declaring I had "it" stashed elsewhere. At this point I was so late for work I was sure I was fired. When he asked to search the Tahoe I readily agreed, excited to finally prove that I was telling the truth. He had me get out, set my purse on the hood of the Charger, and sit in the front seat while he dug around in the Tahoe.

I don't know how long he looked; it felt like forever. I watched him pull at carpeting, lining, door seals; he sniffed a whole lot of things that were probably pretty disgusting, and removed child car seats raining snack crumbs as they went. I'm sure he saw the Examination of Conscience for the Sacrament of Confession in the glove box. I wonder what he thought about that? Or about the Rosary hanging on my rearview mirror? Did he think I was Mexican?

When he was done there he dug through my purse, honing in on my little green change purse in particular. I'm sure he thought he had finally hit the mother load. Instead he found hair pins, a few pennies, and lost buttons. My favorite color happens to be green, officer; I'm sorry it also happens to be the same color as the plant you're so desperately searching for. Or not.

After that whole debacle he have me a warning about my speeding, apologized for the misunderstanding, and said I was free to go. I scraped up the last remaining bits of my dignity, along with my disarranged purse, and took off.

Thankfully I worked with understanding (at least humored) people, and all they did was laugh about it. I was working in the kitchen of a convenience store at the time, so we heard a lot of "news" from our patrons. It was incredible hearing the stories that night...about me. "The police have a girl handcuffed and thrown in the back of the Charger in front of Theisens!"

Flash forward to today. I ended up having to make an unplanned trip to get another new pair of boy glasses because of boy rough-housing. My Mom so kindly offered to watch the boys so I could have some "peace and quiet" during the errand.

Peace and quiet while driving so often lull me into a meditative state. While fully aware of what's on the road in front of me, I often forget that it's my foot which is propelling me down the road at greater speeds. Out of my pleasant stupor I noticed a black car approaching that had a suspicious number of antennas protruding from it. A quick check showed I was doing 15 miles an hour over the speed limit. Oops. I forgot all about the cruise.

As the car passed me I looked down into the vehicle and recognized the uniform of an officer. A second later the rearview mirror showed he was braking. Dadgummit. He's turning around! I can't tell Eli I got a ticket! Hide hide hide!

I was transported back in time to that same overwhelming flight response I felt when I was 21. I jammed the accelerator to the floor and whipped onto the first gravel road I saw...it was mercifully close. And hilly. Before long I was out of sight of the highway. Phew. What's wrong with me? I'm a 33 year old mom with four boys, I don't need to be acting like a lunatic. I was shaking, my heart trying to pound out of my chest, and yet the thought still popped in my head: those were some mad driving skills, sister. You negotiated that curve like a Petty.

I'm a Catholic. I don't believe in karma. But I do believe in reasonably following the law. I don't intentionally break the law...or try to avoid justice. I guess the fight or flight response is stronger in me than I thought--and doesn't require much thought at all. A shot of adrenaline and I'm OJ in a white Bronco. Quite scary.

I'll leave you with that little disturbing revelation.

Oh, and if you're in law enforcement, these are all made up stories for the entertainment of my readers. You bet. ;)