I CAN'T DRIVE 55

As I sit here on this beautiful Sunday afternoon drinking an ice cold Rolling Rock (don't judge me, I'm still on vacation), reflecting on the best Spring Break I've ever had (during which I visited Sonoma, San Francisco, Berkeley, and Monterey Bay), I can't help but smile—not because I saw some of the most beautiful cities in Northern California, but because I am not a felon.

I'll preface this story by saying I am now a certified speed demon. I really can't drive 55 m.p.h.

I drove almost 1300 miles during the past week. I'm not complaining because I had a great vacation (and am now moving to San Francisco as soon as humanly possible), but it would have been nice to have traversed a more efficient route. I went from Los Angeles to Sonoma to Monterey to Berkeley to San Francisco back to Berkeley back to Monterey before returning home.

Needless to say, after all that driving, I just wanted some rest. So, last night I was driving 125 m.p.h. on a good portion of the Southbound 101.

Luckily, when that white flash passed before Officer E. Moore's eyes on that dark, deserted freeway, his radar gun read only 103 m.p.h.

Lights flashing and sirens blaring, he pulled me off to the side of the road.

"Good evening, officer," I said, handing him my license and registration, knowing I committed a felony and could resultantly be facing impound fees no less than $9000 and, God forbid, spending a few nights in some shabby motel in King City, CA.

"I pulled you over for exceeding the posted speed limit," was his reply. I wished he would have exchanged pleasantries with me. Since he didn't, I figured right then and there I was probably fucked.

"How fast were you going?" he asked. I replied, "About 95 to 100 m.p.h." So, he told me: "I'd like you to know that exceeding speeds of 100 m.p.h. is a felony and I saw you going 103 m.p.h..."

I thought to myself: Damn, I'd had loved for a cop to tell me he gunned me at 125 m.p.h.

But that's when things took an unexpected and most fortunate turn.

"...but I'm a fair man, and I reward honesty."

I didn't know exactly how, but I knew he was going to let me off the hook.

"I have to cite you, but I'll say you were going 95 m.p.h so you don't face felony charges."

I breathed a huge sigh of relief and said, "Thanks, officer. I really appreciate it, sir."

I'd like to add that I only learned one thing from my thirteen years at Catholic school: you must appease authority figures, and the easiest way to appease them is through courtesy. Sirs, ma'ams, thank-yous, and I-appreciate-its always come in handy.

He handed me my ticket, and I was on my merry way.

So, this beer's for you, California Highway Patrolman Moore. Thanks to you, for the duration of my travels, I drove at the snail's pace of 99 m.p.h. to avoid anymore felony run-ins.

Cheers!

(If any frequent readers are wondering where the picture is, I haven't gotten a chance to scan my ticket yet.)