"Hello, officer, what seems to be the problem?" I asked earnestly.
"Son, do you know how fast you were speeding back there?" the cop-by-day, stripper-by-night asked in return.
I'd been getting away with speeding down a long stretch of road for probably longer than I should have. They finally got me.
"Uh, no sir, in fact I'm very certain I was at least twenty below the posted speed limit, according to my speed-o-meter right here." I point for emphasis.
"Well, my radar tells me you were going 104, nearly twenty-five above the limit, actually," he insists.
"Well, officer, may I see a printed report of the last calibration for your radar unit, please? By law I can request such a report so that I can attest to the validity of your claim, sir." Police officers love it when you play hardball.
Yeah. Right. That never happened. If I ever did get intercepted by police I can tell you right now that I would probably just turn into a hundred and sixty pounds of wussy, taking whatever abuse a big n' burly officer would dish out.
"Y-y-yes s-s-sir, you're right, I was spee-e-e-eeding!" I would sputter between tears. "Ah-ah-and I-I-I also only counted to two instead of three at that last stop sign, and I p-p-plead guilty to the m-m-murder of Nicole Simpson! Aww-w-w Gawd!"
"That's good," he would say. "And you are also responsible for the abolition of today's middle class."
"Ye-ye-yes-es-es, that too!"
But I did very recently get pulled over by security, and that, my friends, was enough to get my blood pumping like a northern oil pipeline, adrenaline coursing into my muscles like nitrous to an engine. But, damn! I've never felt so alive! Since my confrontation with the law a few days ago I've considered engaging in multiple other types of felonies to feel that same high again. I'd start with jay-walking and under-tipping, then move into more serious territories like making crank calls to the local library.
*Ring ring... ring ring...
"Hello, town library."
"Uh, yeah, uh, hi. Do you, uh, have Great Expectations? *derisive snickering
"Well, yes we do."
Hee hee "Then maybe you should try lowering them! Bwahahaha -" *click*
The key word there was "considering". I'm not an outlaw, I'm not a jerk. Most of the time. I live within the rules established by modern-day society because I'm a nice guy. If I am found speeding on any given piece of roadway, it's normally because I'm just not paying attention, and usually I catch myself before too long. But this day, I was in a hurry to get home. I somehow had to squeeze a 40 minute highway drive into a 20 minute window; the wife was heading off to work and needed to pass off our son to me lateral-football style on her way out to earn us a living, thus keeping me a kept man. So what's a guy to do? I hit the gas. I was cruising along just fast enough to test Einstein's theory of relativity, yet slow enough that I could kill my speed in a hurry if my "spidey-senses" detected police presence nearby.
Now, this was all happening on a secondary highway type of road. Its posted limit is 80 km/h, all gravel all the time, and icier than the constant stares I received from my English teacher throughout junior high. Barreling along at a buck twenty-five, my eyes were darting around looking for the fuzz, noticing only normal stuff. Shrub, deer, sign, another shrub, grader parked on a side road, shrub...
Then I realized there was a vehicle parked behind the grader. At least I thought so. I could see glimpses of something through gaps in the grader frame. I hesitated. Then I stamped the brakes. Too late.
I flew by the intersection. I was staring out the passenger window directly at a white pickup truck as I went by, the expression on my face and position of my lips clearly projecting to the officer in the front seat that I was mid-speak.
"OHH, SHIII -"
I glanced back at my speedometer which had drastically come down from seconds earlier - 87 -, wondering if my speed was diluted far enough at the point of infraction that the officer might let it slide. I was intently staring in my rearview to see if the officer would give chase. A hundred meters away. Two hundred meters. Three hundred. Still no truck. At nearly a half-kilometer east of ground zero, I was in the clea- Woooooo-ooo-oo! Damn!
The security vehicle peeled out onto the road behind me, fishtailing as it gained speed. For a moment - just a moment - I considered flooring it, imagining myself racing down the gravel highway with the Po-Po in hot pursuit, nipping at my heels. My mind raced. The Man was probably after me because I was speeding, definitely. But what if that wasn't it? What if he wanted to nail me for the coke I had in my middle console? I was too pretty to go to jail! In a panic I threw the coke out the passenger window, replacing it with a pepsi instead. He was still chasing me! What to do, what to do?! I could still outrun him; my truck had a Hemi after all. But then I thought of life on the lam, how I'd miss my young family, my home, my garage... Oh God! My mountain bike! I eased off the gas, looking for a safe place to pull over.
A lot of big semi-trailer trucks travel that icy road, and I really didn't want to be stopped anywhere dangerous. So, I treated myself to a low-speed police chase. For nearly ten minutes, plugging along at 83 in an 80 zone with flashing lights directly behind me (Badass!) I was an outlaw. I enjoyed every second of it. I had my music respectably cranked (I rock like a responsible adult should, thank you), a warm coffee in hand, and a security escort for as long as I dared. Eventually, I stopped in a safe place, and I stepped out of my truck. We actually had a very friendly exchange of information, even talking about pickup accessories for a few minutes. Heck, I was already late anyway. My wife could just drop off the kid with any of the neighborhood hobos, they were all friendly, and I'd pick him up when I got there. The officer gave me a friendly reminder to slow down a bit, and that was it.
It was a good thing I finally got nabbed, though. The last few weeks I'd been driving home faster and faster, almost feeling like something out there was looking out for me, making sure I didn't get caught. But it was actually the other way around. Something was looking out for me, all right, only it made sure I did get caught. It reminded me to slow down so I could get to where I wanted to go, happy and safe. I'm off to go give my wife a kiss now, just to get another reminder.