Menace to society
That would be yours truly. Would you believe that I got pulled over AGAIN? Well, believe it, because I did.
(OK, I'm going to interrupt myself for a sec. I forgot to blog about the last time I got pulled over, which was a couple of months ago during one of those random ... what are those called? Checkpoints! I got pulled over at a checkpoint, and the officer was freaking PISSED at me because I was on the phone and my friend kept saying funny things to get me to lose it and I COULD NOT STOP LAUGHING. And then I couldn't find my insurance card again, which made me laugh even harder. And finally the officer was like, "Get off the phone NOW!" and I was all scared straight and found my insurance. And THEN he made me show I could pull in and out of a parking spot, which I did flawlessly if I do say so myself, keeping me from being tossed in jail after all. So anyway. This makes the third time in eight or nine months that I've been pulled over, which is more than I've been pulled over in my entire life previously. I believe I'm on what they call a roll. Or something.)
Anyway! Back to the story. I'm driving home the other night and I'm literally, like, a mile from home when I see those lovely red-and-blue lights I've come to know so well. This time, though, I am CONFIDENT I did nothing wrong, so I give the officer my brightest, cheeriest, sweetest smile as he strolls up to my window.
Him: How much have you had to drink tonight?
Me (indignant, but in a cute way): Nothing!
Him: Are you aware that your right brake light is out?
Me (wondering what drinking or not drinking has to do with my brake light): Oh, really? I'm sorry. I had no idea. Which one did you say it was? The right one?
Him: Yes. The right one.
Me: OK, I'll fix it this weekend.
Him: Can I see your license and insurance?
Me: Sure, no problem.
(Having learned my lesson the previous TWO times, I produce my license and insurance in mere seconds.)
He disappears. I'm feeling pretty good about life, because, I mean, how can I get in trouble for something that I didn't know I was doing? If that doesn't say "warning" all over it, I don't know what does. Plus, I mean, I'm a nice girl. I can be flirty. I can be charming.
Well. Apparently our friend the police officer is immune to the Swishy charm. (I know, I couldn't believe it either.) He hands me a ticket, a ticket for 65 FREAKING DOLLARS. Which is the stupidest thing I have ever heard of. There IS a silver lining, though: If I get my brake light fixed within five days and take it to the popo station, I get a pass on the ticket. Goody. Because there is nothing else I'd rather do than fix my brake light.
OK. If this post were a two-parter, this would be the part titled, "I am Woman, Hear Me Roar." I went to the auto parts place hoping maybe they would take pity on my cluelessness and pop the bulb in for me. Nope. I could have made some guy do it for me. I could have taken it somewhere and paid someone to do it. I could have done any of those things. But no! I am a competent, intelligent, professional woman! I can fix a brake light!
So I pull into an empty parking lot and roll up my figurative sleeves. And then I get a guy on speaker phone, you know, just in case. And then I change my brake light. I will boil this part of the story down to bullet points:
* Yes, it took me several minutes to find the little turn-y things.
* Yes, I tried yanking off the light cover even though the screws weren't all the way undone. (In my defense, my friend told me it would just "pop off" once I started turning the screws. It DID NOT pop off, at ANY point.)
* Yes, I eventually had a friend help me. (She called while I was doing it! She was nearby!)
* And, yes, I got my hands dirty. See?
Are you impressed? You should be impressed.
All right. So I go to the police station to show them my brake light and I get this sort of scary-looking, older cop.
Him: Press on the brakes.
I push on the brakes.
Him: Uh, I said press on the brakes.
Me (to myself): I am! Wait ... does the car need to be on? I don't think the car needs to be on, but maybe it DOES need to be on. OK, I'll turn it on ... OK.
I turn on the engine and push on the brakes again.
Him: Are you going to press on your brakes?
Me: I am! I really am!
Him: Can you just do a turn signal or something?
I do right, then left.
And then he starts to walk away.
Me: So ... I'm good? It's all good now?
Him: After I sign it.
Me: And you're gonna sign it, right?
Him: When I go inside, I will.
Me: Um ... OK. Great. Thank you!
I really wanted to ask him if I could take a picture of him giving me the thumbs-up, but he didn't seem like he was in the mood to pose, so I did the next best thing: I took a picture of him walking away.