In honor of my blog's redesign, I hereby confer upon you a new post.
You're welcome.
Let's begin with a story from my childhood. Yes, that's right. Another one. Let's face it, folks-- I had a long and eventful childhood, and I retain useless memories like Arnold Schwarzenneger retains a very good lawyer: just in case.
This particular gem has stuck with me through the years because it was a realization that was relevant to my daily life. You see, at my little elementary school, we got an hour of recess every day. As a child, I utilized every moment of my time outside, as you may remember from previous posts.
One day, I was playing with a group of similarly adventurous children, when we decided to go past the boundary. This was a big no-no. But all the teachers were occupied watching the littlest kids struggle with the monkey bars, and all the high grass looked like a huge adventure waiting to happen. So, like the intrepid explorers of olde, we stepped over the log benches and into the unknown.
We frolicked around in the grass for almost the entire hour of recess, until a teacher realized that half the first grade class was missing, and came to find us. For most of my classmates, it was too late.
Don't worry-- nobody dies in this blog post. They just get really bad boo-boos.
You see, the next morning, when everyone arrived at school, they had all these welts and red spots all over them. Our teacher took one look and diagnosed it as poison ivy. But I, who had been the forerunner of them all (no, literally, we played Follow-the-Leader, and the Leader was moi), did not have a single spot to show for my midday romp through the forbidden grass.
Later on in life, I learned that through an accident of genetics, no one in my family is allergic to poison ivy, unlike the majority of the human species. But at the time, I was SuperGirl.
This is where I change the subject in a way that seems completely random, but which will eventually circle back around to the original story, thereby making this a (somewhat) coherent blog post.
I got pulled over tonight. By a cop. With blue flashy lights and everything. Also, I was five feet away from the gate to my apartment complex.
Somehow, I have only been pulled over four times in my life. That may seem like a lot for a 22-year-old, but I'll let you in on a little secret: I break traffic laws. Like a lot. Particularly speeding. Sometimes I run lights late at night. And sometimes I roll right on through stop signs (like I did tonight). But usually, I don't get caught.
Incident #1: The first time I got pulled over, I was speeding over the Interstate in Monteagle, a little podunk town where everybody, but everybody, speeds over the Interstate. At least 50 (in a 35). Anyway, I was going 50, and I got pulled over. BrownFriend was in the car with me, so it was super-embarrassing that I got pulled over for the first time with someone there to witness my shame. However, at the time, I was not too concerned about it.
I had just found out that my mother had breast cancer. Again. So you can imagine my distress. BrownFriend and I were actually on the way to the CVS so that I could buy pink hair dye, to show my solidarity. I was crying. I probably shouldn't have been driving while I was crying, but... oh, well.
So the cop pulls me over, tells me how fast I was going, sees that I am incredibly upset, and takes pity on me.
You're welcome.
Let's begin with a story from my childhood. Yes, that's right. Another one. Let's face it, folks-- I had a long and eventful childhood, and I retain useless memories like Arnold Schwarzenneger retains a very good lawyer: just in case.
This particular gem has stuck with me through the years because it was a realization that was relevant to my daily life. You see, at my little elementary school, we got an hour of recess every day. As a child, I utilized every moment of my time outside, as you may remember from previous posts.
One day, I was playing with a group of similarly adventurous children, when we decided to go past the boundary. This was a big no-no. But all the teachers were occupied watching the littlest kids struggle with the monkey bars, and all the high grass looked like a huge adventure waiting to happen. So, like the intrepid explorers of olde, we stepped over the log benches and into the unknown.
We frolicked around in the grass for almost the entire hour of recess, until a teacher realized that half the first grade class was missing, and came to find us. For most of my classmates, it was too late.
Don't worry-- nobody dies in this blog post. They just get really bad boo-boos.
You see, the next morning, when everyone arrived at school, they had all these welts and red spots all over them. Our teacher took one look and diagnosed it as poison ivy. But I, who had been the forerunner of them all (no, literally, we played Follow-the-Leader, and the Leader was moi), did not have a single spot to show for my midday romp through the forbidden grass.
Later on in life, I learned that through an accident of genetics, no one in my family is allergic to poison ivy, unlike the majority of the human species. But at the time, I was SuperGirl.
This is where I change the subject in a way that seems completely random, but which will eventually circle back around to the original story, thereby making this a (somewhat) coherent blog post.
I got pulled over tonight. By a cop. With blue flashy lights and everything. Also, I was five feet away from the gate to my apartment complex.
Somehow, I have only been pulled over four times in my life. That may seem like a lot for a 22-year-old, but I'll let you in on a little secret: I break traffic laws. Like a lot. Particularly speeding. Sometimes I run lights late at night. And sometimes I roll right on through stop signs (like I did tonight). But usually, I don't get caught.
Incident #1: The first time I got pulled over, I was speeding over the Interstate in Monteagle, a little podunk town where everybody, but everybody, speeds over the Interstate. At least 50 (in a 35). Anyway, I was going 50, and I got pulled over. BrownFriend was in the car with me, so it was super-embarrassing that I got pulled over for the first time with someone there to witness my shame. However, at the time, I was not too concerned about it.
I had just found out that my mother had breast cancer. Again. So you can imagine my distress. BrownFriend and I were actually on the way to the CVS so that I could buy pink hair dye, to show my solidarity. I was crying. I probably shouldn't have been driving while I was crying, but... oh, well.
So the cop pulls me over, tells me how fast I was going, sees that I am incredibly upset, and takes pity on me.
End Result: No Ticket.
Incident #2: Same place, about a year later. Remember how everybody speeds over the Interstate? Still true. And I was following one such everybody to a Retirement Home. I had never had occasion to visit the Old Folks' Home before now, so I had to keep up with this OneSuchEverybody. We go 50 in a 35. Blue lights hit my rear view mirror.
In my car with me are three very scared little freshmen, members of my a capella choir (which is going to perform at the Old Folks' Home). They sit timidly and make themselves as small as possible as -- yes-- the very same cop who had previously pardoned me strolled up to the window.
I believe I squeaked out something along the lines of, "Evening, officer." I was just proud that I wasn't crying this time.
I explain the situation, that I would be lost with OneSuchEverybody, and he laughingly admits that it was a "crapshoot between which of [us] [he] was going to pull over," since OneSuch was not only speeding, but also had a tail light out.
End Result: No Ticket.
Incident #3: We'll be back in the Music City for this one. There is a spot on one of our main roads where it is really easy to speed, since the stretch of road is levelling out from a rather substantial little hill. Unless you ride your brake on the way down, you'll probably be speeding by the time you reach this little patch of highway. Naturally, I am not one who is often inclined to ride her brake. Also, it was 3am. So I was speeding.
Blue lights. Little siren blip. I pull over, shut my engine off.
A red-haired cop with braces -- braces! And he was at least 30... -- comes to my window. I hand him all the usual documents and cards. We had a very simple conversation that went something like:
Officer: Do you know how fast you were going?
Me: Yep. 55. [In a 45.]
Officer: Oh. Um... do you have any medical or other reason to be going so fast?
Me: Nope.
Officer: Oh. Uh, okay. Wait here.
He runs my license through his little whatever-they-have-that-runs-those-things. He comes back.
Officer: You've never gotten a ticket before, have you?
Me: Nope.
Officer: You'd like to keep it that way, I'll bet, wouldn't you?
Me: Uhhhhh, yeah!
Officer: Slow down, okay?
He handed me my license back.
End Result: No Ticket.
Incident #4: Tonight, after getting off work at 11pm, having slipped magnificently (flying shoes and all) and hurt my tailbone rather badly, I was in a little bit of a hurry getting home. Normally I am quite careful on the road I take to my apartment complex. It's a speed trap, and PurpleFriend can attest to the fact that police cars often camp out by the one stop sign along the road just to ticket innocent people who maybe roll a little bit instead of fully stopping.
I rolled through that stop sign like it was a yield sign that was just pretending.
Blue lights, all that jazz.
I pulled over, turned off my engine, got out my license. However, he asked for my registration also, and when I opened my glove compartment to get it, my whole glove compartment fell off the dashboard. I fished my registration out of the wreckage and handed it to the police officer, who explained that I really ought to stop at the stop sign.
When he returned two moments later, he handed me my license, my registration, asked me if I knew which stop sign he was talking about, and upon hearing that I did, bid me a good night.
End Result: No Ticket.
I wish a cop would give me a ticket. I deserve a ticket. I feel pretty guilty about the fact that I have gotten away with this four times.
But, in the end, I guess it's not just poison ivy I'm immune to.
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