Not-So-Smooth-Criminal.

I’d dropped Kiki off at school as usual, and was heading home with the baby when it happened. I saw the policeman standing on the side of the road with his radar gun. He made eye contact and waved me over. Shit.

“Do you know how fast you were going?”

“Twenty-Six?”

“Twenty-six. And do you know what the speed limit is?”

“Twenty-Five?”

“Wrong, it’s a school zone. The speed limit is fifteen.”

“Um. Oh.” I glance in my rear view mirror at the End School Zone sign a good block and a half behind me. But,  I bite my lip because nothing good will come of me opening my mouth in this situation. Trust me, I have learned from experience. The baby starts to fuss.

Officer Smiley then asks me for my license and registration. Shit!

“Um, Yeah. I forgot my wallet in my diaper bag at home. I was just dropping my daughter off and I live right… Um…You can look it up, can’t you?” You are lucky I have pants on.

“Yeah. Whats your name?”

I spell it for him and he wanders off for a good ten minutes. When he comes back he looks annoyed. So am I. Elijah is past fussing at this point and is full out screaming.  And it’s cold and my engine is off so there’s no heat.

“I can’t find you in the system,” he says. “Are you sure this is the correct spelling?”

I spell it again and suggest he try my maiden name too just in case. Another ten minutes pass, which I spend trying to avoid eye contact with every other parent from my kids school as they stare at me on their way past. I can see them all wondering what I did. I fervently wish his car was behind mine, to block the easily identifiable trailer hitch. Shiiiit.

Officer Inconvenient returns finally. “You still aren’t coming up. What’s your social?”

I relay the information and  ask if I can get out of the car, because at this point, my son is full-on-red-faced wailing at the top of his lungs.

“Nope, stay put, I’ll be right back.”

Another ten minutes or so pass, during which I realize several things. I forgot to take my medication, I have to pee, and I’m not wearing a bra.  SHIT!

A  month later, he returns. “You still aren’t coming up. Give me your social one last time.”

“575-” I say.

“Seven-five-Seven”

“No, it’s FIVE SEVEN FIVE”

“Sevenfivefive…”

….

Eventually, Officer Dyslexic gets it right with the computer and discovers that I do actually exist and am not some fugitive drug-muling soccer mom. At this point, I’ve taken to grinning maniacally and parade-waving at the rubberneckers. I think I’m going to skip this months PFA meeting though.

When he finally comes back with his ticket book I’m startled, as I’d been busy trying to figure out just how hard it would be to clean pee out of my upholstery and if it’s maybe worth the effort- and Elijah is busy strangling his blue bunny whilst screaming his anger at it. He’s hungry at this point, and no amount of consoling will do.

“Well, I’m doing you a favor. Speeding in a school zone is an expensive ticket. Instead I’ve given you a ticket for failing to carry your license. It was a huge waste of my time to have to look you up in the system. Be sure to carry it with you from now on.”

My lip is now bleeding because of how hard my teeth are dug into it, but I manage to smile and nod, and mumble a “Thank you”  before I flee back to the safety of my home, where I look at the ticket.

Crap. 110 bucks! Steve is going to kill me.

Surprisingly, he is pretty cool about the ticket, and I forgot about it until a few days later when the first driving school flier arrives in the mail.

Hmm. But, my ticket didn’t put points on my license.

Then I realize it’s in his name. Turns out, HE got a $300 speeding ticket the day before.

And when we go to pay mine, they ask to see my license. As long as I have one, the fee?

Ten bucks.


*Disclaimer* This actually happened several months ago, but I never got around to finishing the post until now.

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