Twice in a week, I have been pulled over by policemen. The last time
was in March 2020, when the pandemic was just kicking off. On Thursday
evening, I was driving home from Jeff's house (we had watched a Spanish
art horror film from the Seventies and . . . well, that pretty much says
it all), when a police car pulled up behind me and flashed his lights.
Often, when that happens, I assume they're after me, but they're really
after someone else (conversely, when I'd speed and a cop flashed his
lights, I often hoped they were after someone else, but alas) so I tried
to pull over quickly, but safely.
I parked and took off my seat belt so I could get my wallet out, then quickly put the seat belt back on, worried that he'd think I was driving without it.**
I put down my driver's side window. The cop--super-young, possibly aspiring to be a policeman when he grows up--came up to my passenger window and knocked, startling me a little.
"Do you know why I pulled you over?" he asked, and it was a good question, as I was sure I hadn't been speeding.*
I could think of nothing snarky, so I said, "No, sir."
He said, "I can't read your license plate."
I thought that was odd, so I asked, "Is it gone? Did somebody take my licens--"
He interrupted, "No, it's still there. License and proof of insurance please."
Well, I leaned over and opened the glove compartment, and grabbed the registration paper, but he said, "That's your registration, I need your insurance form." Well, I have insurance, but as I had an accident a month or two back, I must have left it in the house when I was dealing with that.
I gave him my license and he then said, "By the way, I saw you putting on your seat belt just now."
Now maybe I was impolite about it (I tried not to be), but I insisted I had had my belt on, but took it off for my wallet then put it back for the exact purpose of not being accused of not having it on. "Uh huh," said the man, like I do when I hear people claim Trump's going to drain the swamp (or has already).
Maybe I overstated my case, because I promised him I had had it on, and have to admit that I wasn't pleased that he didn't believe me.
Anyway, he explained to me that there's a reflective material on license plates, and mine has faded to the point of not being able to read the number, then he went back to write it up.
I took advantage of the lull to get on my phone and look up my insurance information for when he came back. When he did, I tried to show him, but he said, "It needed to be in a timely manner, sir," which sounded kind of like he thought I was a douche.
"Sorry," I said.
He added, "Oh, and you really shouldn't reach over the way you did when you get pulled over."
"Well, I was reaching for my proof of . . . never mind." As soon as I said it, I knew it sounded lame.
"We don't know what you're reaching for, so be aware," he said.
"Sure, sure," I said, trying to sound like one of the good guys here.
Regardless, he told me I needed to go to the DMV and order a new license plate, one that was readable, and that he'd just let me go with a warning, on the assurance that I'd take care of it.
Honestly, I was just relieved about the insurance thing, so I thanked him and went home.
Hey Rish, you may be asking, why are you wasting my time with this?
To which I say, Is it a waste of time?
You don't like this blog post?
No, I'm just asking, why would you blog about something like this when there seems to be no good reason for it?
To which I say, Well, now I feel bad.
Do you really think it's a w--
No, no, I didn't mean waste of time. I just meant you seldom write about things that happen to you anymore, and yet you spent the time to write this one up.
I did. Yeah.
But this one doesn't seem to have a f***ing point.
Huh.
So, here's my point, basically. That night, as soon as I got home, I printed out my proof of insurance, and made one for the glove box and one for my wallet. Just in case.
And on Sunday, I took out the 8.5 metric tonnes of crap from my trunk until I found the other license place (the one that goes on the front) and I switched it with the old one, since it was still brand new (I also stuck the registration sticker on it, hoping it would stay on at least until next year's stickers came).
I went to the cabin for the day and came home this morning, and as I was emerging from the canyon, I passed a sheriff's department vehicle on the side of the road. I was going too fast, as was the truck that was riding my hind end, presumably trying to figure out what my bumper sticker was supposed to represent.***
"Do you know why I pulled you over?" this cop asked me. Well, I was pretty sure it was because I was speeding, but he'd also pulled over the pickup truck too, which I'd never seen before. It may have been that he was pulling everyone over that came through the canyon, because they might not be aware of the zombie apocalypse going on in the cities.
Maybe they ask the question that way so that people will say, "I dunno, is it because of the baggies of heroin under the spare in the trunk?" or "Because you finally found out what I did at the synagogue?"
Anyway, in this case, he said, "Clocked you and the other guy doing 46 in a 35."
Ah. Anyway, I got out my license and said, "Can I grab you my proof of insurance?"
And the cop said, "I don't need it. If I want to, I can check to see if you have insurance."
Ah again.
Anyway, he checked to see if I had any outstanding warrants, then let both of us speeders go.
And that's it for my scintillating tale . . . unless I get pulled over a third time this week. I'll let you know why he pulled me over.
*I wouldn't have said my car was capable of speeding until today, but that's putting the patrolman before the horse.
**My car, and I assume yours as well, has an ear-splitting beeping that goes off if you don't put your seatbelt on, or if you've got a box sitting on the passenger seat until you're about to lose your mind and you pull over, get out, and put a seatbelt over the box.
***It's the second Death Star. You know, the one that was still under construction.
