Feb 24 2005
the thursday of my discontent
I was pretty much in a crappy mood all day today, and then all of the events which I will begin recounting in the next sentence happened, so now I kind of feel like throwing a shoe with a pointy heel at something.
Picture it: I’m driving through the Michigan countryside, listening to Usher, simultaneously being embarrassed by the fact that yes, I am listening to Usher, and loving every second of, well, listening to Usher. In my rearview mirror, I spy an officer. Naturally, my first inclination is to check my speedometer, and I am pleasantly surprised by the fact that I’m not speeding. Of course, the officer is totally speeding, because man did he end up on my tail in a hurry. Anyway, I continue my regimen of listening to Usher (well, actually, it had switched to Wilco — seriously, what is up with the music I listen to?) and not speeding as the cop tailgates me. This goes on for quite some time, until I reach the end of the road and stop at a stop sign. I turn, as does the officer, and that’s when the flashing lights of doom come on, and I’m thinking “Oh seriously, what? WHAT?!?” as I pull over. The officer and I have the standard conversation that officers and non-officers have in these situations, namely, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” with the requisite reply of “Uh, no?” (And why does that always come out as a question, even when you totally don’t know why you’ve been pulled over?) The officer proceeds to explain that the registration tags on my license plate had expired (whoops!) and I hand over my driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance, then he returns to his vehicle. I then go on to call everyone I know, because it’s really boring waiting for cops to run your information through the system to check and see that you don’t have any outstanding warrants or that you’re not a suspected terrorist or whatever it is they do that TAKES SO LONG. Finding that most everyone I know is busy, I sit back in my seat and watch as all the people in the passing cars on the other side of the road stare at me, because oooh! she got pulled over, the wench! Which, by the way, is totally what they’re thinking, even though they have no idea who I am. I just know this. Right, so the officer comes back with all my stuff (plus the added bonus ticket), and informs me that the proof of insurance I gave him was expired, but since I’m driving a nice car, he’s sure that it’s insured, and all I have to do is take my proof of insurance to a police station and have someone sign off on it. And I should take care of this within 14 days, or they (you know… they) can revoke my license.
Yes. See?
And that, my friends, is that.
