Thursday, April 3, 2008

I ♥ Cops

My husband graciously offered to drop me off at the van this morning and how was this generosity repaid? That's right, with a big fat speeding ticket.

Let it be said that my 8-minute commute to the van in the morning is a breakneck exercise in short stopping, weaving, and excessive acceleration. So I naturally feel terrible that my spouse was the one clipped by Fate when she was clearly gunning for me.

As soon as we experienced the simultaneous "Oh-shit-are-they-pulling-me-over-no-they're-not-pulling-me-over-maybe-no-yes-no-no-noooo-Dammit!" stomach drop at the sight red and blue lights advancing on us, we knew we'd been had.

Never one to go down without a fight, I leaned toward the portly officer Gonzales as the million-watt searchlight from his cruiser flooded our car and asked, "Could we please do this in the Target parking lot, I have about 2 minutes to catch my ride to work."

He let us go but kept my husband's license and told him to come right back. I took this as a good sign, maybe officer Gonzales wasn't a complete bastard and he would give a break to a guy who was just giving his wife a lift to her vanpool. After all, it's not as though we were throwing empty vodka bottles out our windows or doing lines off the dashboard, we were just traveling a hair above the speed limit.

No dice. As I sat with the phone on my lap anticipating the message that we got off with a warning, the phone rang and my hopes were dashed: "Yeahp," was all he said.

So, officer Gonzales you glorified meter maid wanker, as I spend the first few hours of my day working (i.e. updating this blog) to pay for the speeding ticket you wrote this morning, I have nothing but contempt for you and your ill-fitting polyester trousers.

As for my spouse whose day has surely been shot to hell and who still has to face his own commute, a little ditty to put it all in perspective:

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