Saturday, June 30, 2007

My Brush With the Law

Note: I'm telling this story to Mary as I'm typing it. Before I even start she laughs at my title and says that I have a flare for the dramatic. (Mary's comments are pink, mine are purple)

So, I'm coming home from my friend's house last night around 12:30 at night (my house?), and, quite frankly, I just wanted to get home because I had work in 5 hours (Mary says it's 6 1/2... technicalities.) Me, being the slightly lethargic person that I was, I was driving and not really paying attention to my speed. But, it's not like I was actually excessively speeding. I mean I wasn't going 60. But, on campus the speed limit is 30 ... down a hill. So, of course you're going to go faster, right? I just decided not to use my brakes. (And keep my foot on the accelerator. But I didn't.)

So, I go down the hill, minding my own business, rocking out to Avril Lavigne, and I turn the corner to go down the street to my house. I'm about to turn in to my apartment complex when I notice there are very bright, flashing cop lights behind me. So, my first thought is, is he pulling me over? Then, since he turns in behind me, I figure, yes it is me. I can't for the life of me figure out what I did, unless you're not allowed to turn right on a red, which I'm pretty sure you can.

So, I'm about 10 feet away from a parking spot in my complex, and the cop after a bit finally walks up to my car. He informs me that the reason he pulled me over was that I was going 40 when the limit on campus is 30. I acknowledge that indeed the limit is 30, and I didn't realize that I was going that fast. He asks for my license and registration, and I, never having been pulled over before (You've never been pulled over before?), have no idea what my registration looks like. So, I pull out what is more than likely it, and it is and he takes my registration and license back to his car.

He sits in his car, looking up who knows what, (like all my BYU parking tickets) (How many parking tickets do you have?) for what seemed forever. More than likely it was probably about 10 minutes (whatever 5 minutes and I bet he let you off on a warning because you weren't going that fast you're not supposed to guess yet). Mean time I'm sitting in my car wondering, how much it's going to cost, what my mom's going to say when I tell her and how embarrassed I am sitting in the parking lot of my apartment complex as people walk/ drive by. After all these questions plagued my mind (I would have been crying. I was crying. But that makes you sound like you're mad), my emotions could no longer take it. I started crying.

By the time the cop came back to my window I was basically balling (ahhh sad, I probably wouldn't have actually been crying). I had my head on the steering wheel crying. The cop came over (Mary proceeded to say "so sad" throughout the rest of this story), asked me where my local address here was (because I had a Texas license and registration) (right there) and I pointed to my apartment 20 feet away and said right over there. I gave him my actual address and he said, "Well, this time I'm just going to give you a warning. But, you really need to be careful and more aware because we have little kids that run around and play, and you need to be aware." (Little kids!? At 12:30!? Across the street from a college campus!? Dumb, bored policeman!?)

I tell him thank you and he walks away. I pull in to the parking spot, and walk sadly, dejectedly (melodramatically) to my apartment. I'm greeted by my roommate, and we talk for a bit and of course I tell her of my recent experience. In which she replies, "That was you!?" (THE END)

(You can't end it like that. It needs closure. Closure is in the line before. That's not closure if you add another sentence.)