Apr 25 2007
Some More Mr. Nice Guy
I sat there in the minivan wondering what the policeman would say when he came back from his cruiser. I replayed the event in my head.
After a hearty and heart-stopping meal with my family, Ben and I got on the road to see his mommy and her side. Yes, the denotations “his side” and “her side” lose importance over the years, as I consider hers mine and vice versa, but I use it here for clarity.
I tooled along at about 60 mph in a 55 mph zone (that’s 96.5 km/hr and 88.5 km/hr, respectively, for the metric people) to a small town where my late grandfather used to preach at a very small church. Knowing the town was coming up, I slowed to a respectable rate and made my way around the town’s sharp curve at about 35 mph (go get the wonderful, free, and easy Converber if you really need the conversion). I glanced over at the small church where for decades my grandfather humbly delivered the Bible’s lessons to the people. Though not my home church as a child, I attended Vacation Bible School there many times.
To prove it, I still have a wooden plaque bearing my name in uncooked macaroni. Who knew Elmer’s Glue had such staying power?
A hundred yards shy of leaving the city limits, I noticed flashing blue lights in my rear view mirror. “Oh, no,” I said. Oh, #$%@^% $%@$% Q$^%!!, I thought.
I pulled into City Hall’s parking lot. I had stopped there many times, back when the building housed Uncle Fudge’s Grocery.
As the police car slowed to a stop behind me, I worked to get the registration and proof of insurance out of the glove compartment. Oddly, Shannon did not have it all in the pouch with the van’s owner’s manual. I slid my window down to get ready for the inevitable, then started digging through the pile of papers in my lap.
“Sir, I’m Ray Scar, Guy PD. I pulled you over because you were going 61 in a 40 back there.” I’m not using his real name.
“I was?” It was honest. I had no idea.
“Daddy, I need my blankie,” Ben said.
“I’m sorry, Ben, I can’t stop and get your blankie right now. I’m looking for something very important. I’ll get it as soon as I can.” Good timing, boy. Now I’m the good daddy. I owe you a piece of candy.
“Back there by the school, I clocked you at 61, and then at the top of that hill, at 62.”
“That’s back when you first get into town? I’m not from around here, so I guess I’m not familiar with exactly where the speed limit drops. We just finished eating at that catfish place on the other side of Quitman, on the way to see more family in Little Rock.” Shut up. He doesn’t need to know that. “I made sure to slow down through town. How fast was I going there?” A bit of a stretch, perhaps, but technically I’m not from around there any more, and signs can change.
“I don’t know because I was trying to catch up to you.”
Ouch.
“Yeah, I guess you don’t want to rip through town trying to flag somebody down for speeding.” I found the proof of insurance and the registration, and handed them to him along with my driver’s license. “Found it. Here you go.”
“Thank you, sir, I’ll be right back,” Ray Scar said.
“Daddy, I miss Mommy.”
“I know, son. I do, too. We’re on our way to see her as soon as we get back on the road.”
A few minutes later, the officer again sidled up next to the van. “Well, Mr. Williams, you don’t have any tickets, and I don’t want to start your weekend off by giving you one.”
“Thank you, officer, I appreciate that.”
“Just watch your speed and be careful.”
“I will.” I extended my hand. “Thanks again.”
We shook on it.
“Have a good day,” he said.
“You too. Thanks.”
Before putting the van back into Drive, I noticed I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt. I must have unbuckled it when reaching for the glove compartment. In Arkansas driving without a seatbelt is not something for which a driver can be pulled over, but a hefty fine goes with it if an officer notices it during a traffic stop. I lucked out there, too, and will remember to leave it buckled if I’m pulled over again.
Oddly, Ben didn’t ask who the man was, nor why we stopped. Did he understand what was going on just from our conversation? I doubted it then, and still do.
I’ll never understand people who shoot their mouths off when policemen pull them over. If he’s a nice cop, it will just make him (or her) more likely to give you a ticket. If she’s a mean cop, then she’s just more likely to haul you in. Okay, I meant to switch gender there to keep it even, but somehow I made the male look nice and the female look mean.
Oops.
My point is… it doesn’t pay to be an idiot. Of the approximately 10 times I’ve been pulled over in my life (not just for speeding, but not for drunk driving, either), I have received a ticket only once. That reminds me of an incident in a shady Little Rock neighborhood. But that story’s for another day.
I think I only got one ticket ever myself, and that I fought and won.
I wonder if Ben or you told Shan about the nice officer.. *chuckling*
not that I haven’t been pulled over… but they’ve always been nice and given written warnings.
I’m always respectful to people with guns and handcuffs… LOL
For some reason, when was pulled over (as a teen), I remember being able to cry on cue….boy, that came in handy! :)
Dave, I’m always respectful to folk with guns and handcuffs too. (i.e., cops and my wife…)
And I know SO many girls who have turned to the tears to get out of a traffic violation. Chaps my ass. Those are the situations where you need a hardened lady cop to not care in the least that there’s some broad breaking down to avoid a ticket.
Seatbelts (lack of) are a “pullover-able” offence on sight here. One time I got a speeding ticket and, like you, took it off to reach for the insurance and registration. The cop made me raise my right hand and swear that I had just that moment removed it. He still gave me a speeding ticket though.
And about that shady spot in Little Rock… did it just have lots of pretty, covering trees all about, or do you mean something a little more sinister?
I remember the first time that my Dad got pulled over where I was present. Unfortunately, it was the day of either my Grandad’s or Grandmother’s funeral and burial. I cannot remember which grandparent died at that time. It was either 1978 or 1980. We were on our way to the burial.
We did not have a procession because the funeral took place in Blytheville and the burial was just west of Searcy.
An Arkansas State Trooper stopped my Dad somewhere between Bald Knob and Marion on U.S. 64. Dad did not get a ticket because we were trying to get to the burial.
I tend to find my way out of tickets as well. Although the officers’ willingness to let me off the hook decreased noticibly during the years that I had a nose-ring. Go figure.
One of my cousins is a cop in the Kansas City area. She said that women can often get away with the crying, but recommended for guys not to play it too apologetic. She said that while anger will get you an instant ticket, appearing to coward before the police is almost just as bad because it creates a social dynamic in which the cop is above you looking down. Power being what it is in the human brain, they feel more inclined play out the role by giving you a ticket. And though we didn’t discuss it…I’m sure a cute kid in the backseat doesn’t hurt.
Did Ben get that candy you owed him?
Dave - The one speeding ticket I got was held off my record pending 6 months of incident-free probation. I kept my eyes glued to the speedometer.
Yep, I told Shannon. Apparently she shared with the family, because shortly after I arrived, her cousin said, “So, I hear you had a little speeding trouble,” or “Had a run-in with Johnny Law, huh?” or something similarly smart-assed.
When pulled over, respect without groveling is good.
Anna - And that’s still not fair!!
Simon - Naughty, naughty.
The shady spot was both under the cover of trees and sinister, but it happened at night, so the actual shade factor wasn’t a… factor.
John - That’s sad, man. Any attempt at comic relief on that one would seem heartless. Plus, it just ain’t how I roll.
Moksha - I judged nose-ring people harshly whenever possible. ;-)
Seriously, though, that kind of discrimination sucks. What does a criminal look like, anyway?
We had a female friend who was a Little Rock beat cop for a few years. She never talked about it much.
Interesting point about the expectation of follow-through on the power roles. I hadn’t thought about it like that. Should I have avoided offering to shine his boots?
Don’t worry. It being Easter weekend and all, Ben got plenty of candy.
Yeah, it sucked having people look at me like I was a freak just becasue I had opted to shove a 16-gauge chunk of steel through my nostril…but as a form of discrimination, I find it preferable to others simply becasue…well..I did OPT to shove that 16-gauge chunk of steel through my nostril. I could have taken it out at any time. And I don’t really think that folks thought I was a criminal exactly. They just assumed I was a punk kid who probably did other hoodlum stuff and therefore deserved whatever punishment I got for my traffic violation…if only to make up for all the other stuff they missed.
I remember I went on an electerical service call in Colorado to an old lady’s house. For the first 10 minutes or so she just stared at my nose-ringwith this look of fear, like she had opened her house to a mass murderer or something. Finally, she asked me the standard ice breaker question.
“Did that hurt?”
Then she revealed that her grandson had his eyebrow pierced and we got to chatting about youth culture while I installed a series of new base-board heaters for her. She ended up baking me some cookies to take home.
Sorry if I just took this post in a direction you hadn’t intended. I do that sometimes ;)
MG - No worries. That’s one reason I leave comments enabled out here.
Plus, there are few things I wouldn’t read that end up at fresh-baked cookies.
Cool story.
I’m glad I don’t live in Canada or my five over the limit rule would really slow me down. I got my one ticket in 1981, but have been pulled over a couple of times since for speeding and random sobriety checks.
First thing they say to me is, “So you were in the Gulf War?” I love my military plates.
I forgot to add, I always answer, “Yes SIR, I sure was.”
Hey, I was a teenager Mark….I can’t even begin to explain how I did things then! :)
I don’t think I’ve ever been pulled over, but I always cried when one of my high school boyfriends got pulled over. I don’t think it ever got any of them out of the ticket, though, so I must not have been too good at it.
Blitz, I have a 10-over the limit up here. works just fine. When I get on the highway I change it to a 10% over the limit. Then, when the highway limit is posted at 110, I can break 120 without breaking a sweat that I’ll get pulled over.
Yee Haw! Which way to the Nascar circuit?
my best getting-out-of-a-ticket-story: cop told me that he wasn’t going to write me a ticket because i had an organ donor sticker on my driver’s license and “as only about 1 in 10 people” he pulled over ever had that sticker on their license, i obviously must be “a good person.” ha! if he only knew about the body in my trunk. ;)
I got stopped once when I was deadly sick at my stomach and was just tryin to make it home. When the officer walked up to my car, I leaned out and puked a ton. And he still gave me a ticket…
I love everybody’s traffic stop stories. Thanks for sharing.
Ya buncha criminals.