Cruisin' Me Down The Highway

I am not a good driver. I am a lucky driver. I know this and appreciate it. When I took my driver's test several things went wrong. For example, speeding in a school zone. My tester's response, "The car doesn't know school is out today." Or forgetting to check the rearview mirror before changing lanes, "You were lucky. That's how accidents happen." Or the final task of parallel parking where I finally gave up three feet away from the curb, "Well, you didn't hit anything." Driving back to the church I was completely sure I had failed. When I parked the car he said, "Well, you passed. You might want to work on parallel parking and checking your mirrors." Woo Hoo! See? Lucky.

Off I went into the world of lucky driving, speeding all the way. Blowing past highway patrolmen I didn't see, narrowly missing other cars and driving down the center of bridges because I was more afraid of hitting the bridge than oncoming traffic. Traffic can move. The bridge? Not so much.

Then came the day I got my first speeding ticket. I was 40 years old. I had to drive 30 miles down the highway from home to work. I was going in late because I was the Mystery Reader for my son's first grade class that day. Ferdinand, in case you're interested. The highway is all farm land and fairly flat with a few trees. I was going a little fast and listening to Death Cab For Cutie, Soul Meets Body. Then I heard the siren. The State Trooper was right behind me! Why does no one ever tell you what to do when a cop pulls you over? It was a little nerve wracking.

I pulled onto the shoulder, turned off DCFC and turned on my hazards. I find my license and insurance and wait. The trooper gets out of the car and walks up to the window.
"Ma'am, do you know how fast you were going?"

Conundrum.
Choice 1 - Admit that I know I was willfully breaking the law or;
Choice 2 - Lie and look like a distracted moron.

I go with Choice 3 - "Was I going too fast?"
"You were 92 in a 70 mile per hour zone." (Ok, I still think I was only going 90, but, whatever.)
"I'm going to have to ticket you."

Awesome. Let's try to talk him out of it.
"So. I've never gotten a ticket. This would be the first."
"Really. The law of averages is working against you."

Ok. Fine. No talking him out of it. Then he walks around my car, looking at the hood and grill.
"So, you park under a tree?"
"Yes."
"I can tell. You need to wash your car or you'll ruin your finish."

Dad? Is that you? Did your spirit really need to come to this trooper and harass me about washing my car? Is this really the time? Come to me in a dream and harass me. Geez.

"I'll just go run your license."
"Ok. Thanks."
Did I just thank him? What a moron!

So I sit. And wait. I hang my head out the car window like a dog on a road trip. I watch as a tractor moves down the gravel road in the fields next to me. I decide the trooper is using Morse code or smoke signals to run my license. I watch the tractor turn on the access road. I watch the tractor turn onto the shoulder of the highway and chug up behind me and the trooper. I hang my head out the window to see the picture of a black Elantra, a state car, and a John Deere tractor making a stationary parade on the side of the highway. The trooper motions the tractor around us, but traffic on the highway boxes him in. The trooper stomps out of his car, plants himself in the middle of the highway lane and forces traffic over so that the tractor can chug-a-chug-a around us. Then he stomps back to his car. My kingdom for a camera phone.

Three minutes later I get my license, my insurance, and my ticket. He admonishes me to slow down and I am on my way again.

My daughter took her driver's test last week. It sounds like her tester was a lot like mine. Only she isn't a lucky driver. He failed her. So, we practice some more and hopefully next time she passes. But I hope that this means she'll be a good driver, not just a lucky one.