I did get pulled over about a year ago going to work... and doesn't that make for a GRAND day. All in all the experience wasn't as bad as it could have been. He was friendly, I was friendly. They had complaints about speeding and running a light on the UMBC campus, he got me for 37 in a 25... down a hill from a major highway where the speed limit was 55. He as much as told me to take it to court to avoid the points. Ended up he didn't show up and that's right I was "OFF" and "Scott FREE!" So unlike one of my first tickets down in South Bowie at Rt 3 and Pointer Ridge Drive. There is that median strip and two lights that are timed to maximize traffic sitting between them. The conversation went something like this:
Officer: Good afternoon son, do you know why I pulled you over?
Me: No idea.
Officer: Sure you do, son.
Me: Really I don't.
Officer: Come on, son, you know why I pulled you over.
Me: (thinking, if you know that I know, why bother asking me, DAD) Well, you might have thought I wasn't in the intersection when the light was yellow.
Officer: That light was red, son and you weren't in the intersection.
Me: We're going to disagree about that.
The fact that he wanted me to admit some guilt was almost as ridiculous as his repeatedly calling me son. I mean, what would have happened if I'd called him Dad? What would his attitude been?
These days, I've crossed the Son / Sir Continuum of space and time (for you ladies that is the Miss / Ma'am Divide) and officers are either my contemporaries, or they are little snot nosed kids I would have babysat for and now they have a badge and a gun. Good Lord!
One of these days, I am going to become crotchety (yes, I still have that journey ahead of me) and be pulled over for speeding. You all know I won't be the one pulled over for going too slow! Here is how I envision that conversation going.
Officer: Sir, do you know how fast you were going?
Me: I hadn't looked down, but I assume you know.
Officer: I clocked you going 67 in a 45.
Me: 67 what?!?
Officer 67 miles per hour.
Me: Well, that's just impossible, I have no plans to be driving for an hour, and my destination isn't 67 miles away.
Officer: That's not really how it works, sir. The Speed Gun tells me how fast you are going.
Me: so, your talking gun, that you pointed at an innocent man, says it thinks I am going that fast.
Officer: Just give me your license and registration.
Me: Have you been following me for my entire journey? I have been on 4 roads so far. Speed "Limits" I believe were 25, 35, 55, and 45. With kids playing, obscene numbers of traffic lights, and other idiot drivers, I believe the amount of time I was on those roads and what your Speed Gun would whisper in your ear as my magic number, I feel that I have been on the road for about 30 minutes and have gone roughly 13 miles. that roughly equates to a mathematical reality of 26 miles in 60 minutes, which means I was actually going too slow. That isn't counting all the time I have wasted here with you teaching math...
Me: Honey, do you have any money to bail me out of jail?