Memories

It's the end of the month and you know what that means: Police quotas.

My 7 year ticket-free streak officially ended Tuesday when I was pulled over in Cedar City Utah by an officer in shorts and a bright yellow polo. I don't profess to be pure in the area of traffic violations. In fact, any member of my family will tell you (as they just love to remind me) that I've had my fair share of run-ins with traffic enforcers. I admit it--I did have my license revoked for the last half of my senior year. But seriously, most of the tickets were totally the result of some power-tripping police officer. I mean come on, rolling through a stop sign at 11:30 pm in the middle of nowhere? A 35 mph in a 25 mph zone? They were angry men out to prove something. But I had put that behind me and have enjoyed a clean record the past few years. 

Which is why when I got pulled over I started crying.  I have never cried when I've gotten pulled over. My friends all tell me stroies about faking tears and getting out of tickets, but that has never worked for me. In fact, the thought always made me a little queasy. I usually am so ticked off (because it's something stupid), yelling is the only thing I want to do. One time, an officer asked "Do you know how fast you were going?" (I had been 10 over, rushing to get to track practice) and I had to use all my self control to not answer "No but you do, doncha'? Just give me the ticket and get on your merry way." 

The one exception was my junior year when I zoned out for a few seconds (something I do regularly) and ran a red light and hit a car with an old lady driving. Don't freak out, she was not infirm or elderly. She was a pretty saucy lady, in fact. She jumped out of her car and started swearing at me and telling me I was stupid. I was bawling on a curb a while later holding my head in my hands and muttering "my dad is going to kill me" over and over again when the same lady came and put her arms around me and told me everything was going to be okay. The police just felt sorry for me and issued me the lowest possible infraction for the accident. Let's face it, I was pretty pathetic. 

In all my other encounters with traffic-enforcing police, however, they were less than pleasant and I was far from teary. Tuesday's officer in Cedar City, Utah was actually a really nice guy.  He was probably the kindest cop I had ever encountered. Which I found odd because if I was forced to wear a bright yellow polo and little shorts, I'm about 98% sure I'd have a chip on my shoulder. In any case, amidst my tears, he dropped the infraction from 17 mph over to 10 over, which cut the ticket in half. And these tears were genuine, make no mistake. All I could think of was increased insurance premiums after 4 months of an unpaid internship and nothing but high hopes for a job and "good plans" for this fall. Considering my vivid imagination and propensity to play the "worst possible case-scenario" with my life, at that moment, I was sure this ticket was about to ruin my future. I'd be even more penniless and vagrant. Since I already beg for food, I was frightened at the prospect of potentially even less money.

Looking back, I realize it isn't the end of the world. But it does take me back to a dark time when traffic violations defined my life. I'm being forced to relive some awful moments in my life.  I see the faces of cops, faces smirking with the knowledge of their power over me as their pens move across their pad of paper, hell-bent on destroying me. I feel the shame of having to bum rides off everyone for the last part of my senior year of high school. And out of the haze of my memory, I see a wiry old woman, arms flailing as she barrels toward me with expletives spewing from her mouth. And I am afraid.