Blue Lights

She was lurking in the shadows of the median along Highway 410 at a very tired 2:38am. I noted with relief that her left turn signal was on as she was apparently trying to get to a hidden section of shoulder where she could set up her night's work of catching those who drive too fast, too slow, without signals, with too many signals, too loud, too recklessly, and too drunkenly. In my mind, I congratulated myself on driving the speed limit for once, and pitied the next poor soul who found her on his bumper. Another glance in my mirror told me that she had actually made a Uturn and was accelerating behind me, filling my car with the yellow glow from the unmistakeable look of Ford Crown Victoria headlights. I noticed with concern that she wasn't pulling around me, with the typical annoyance that I should dare to drive the speedlimit in front of her. So I began to mentally prepare for the worst. Red lights, yellow lights, white lights, blue lights-they all came on. Chuckling idiotically I turned the wheel into a side street and parked as I pondered what sort of God would orchestrate a day such as mine. Starting as a typical day of frustration at work with scheduling confusion and 'pass the buck' style accountability, then working alone until after 2 in the morning, a bad haircut at the hands of a man who speaks almost no English, and to complete my fairytale evening: a ticket from one of Washington State's finest public servants.

Why do the police officers always seem to blind you with the Maglite when they first walk up to the window? Does it make them feel more powerful? Like it's their own personal sun to shine on what they will? I quickly made a meager attempt to hide my bare feet in the shadows beneath the steering wheel (driving barefoot=$500 ticket) and thought of the State-approved trash disposal bag I lacked (no bag=$90 ticket). Obeying orders (very strong request that i have no choice but to obey=order) I retrieved my license and began the search for my insurance and registration amidst the federal disaster area that is my glovebox. She saw my trouble and offered to come back after she ran my license. Eventually I found my paperwork and handed them over apologetically. Apparently i was speeding: 58mph in a 45mph zone (13mph over speed limit=$158 ticket). We chatted for no apparent reason about my work, my business on the road at such an obscene hour, and my lack of money as I head to school. I almost felt special to be honest. Here was all this fuss, bright lights, public servants talking to me through my window, other patrol cars passing by closely to ensure I wasn't making trouble, and every passing motorist craning their necks to get a look at this dangerous villain and menace to society in a silver blue Accord.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. Satisfied with my promise to slow down, Ms. Patrolwoman returned my essentials and offered a parting, and surprisingly warm 'good evening.' I am not really quite sure what was the deciding factor in what resulted in ten minutes that broke the relentless monotony of my day. Did she feel sorry for me, as I was obviously incompetent, unable to even distinguish between my expired registration and the current one. Were my bloodshot eyes story enough of the hardship I must obviously face on an everyday basis? Perhaps she just had bigger fish to fry. Likely, I simply ooze charm and she had no choice but to let me go. Right.

Needless to say, today...I drove the speed limit.

Needless to say, tomorrow...I won't.