Right. So I’ve never done anything interesting enough to get a police record before. Well, there was that one time in high school that involved an exploding Frisbee, when I couldn’t run away as fast as the others so consequently was just walking innocently along when the cruiser arrived. There was no way a girl would be blowing things up though, so the police just glanced at me and drove on.
It’s called “profiling” and sometimes can be used to one’s advantage. Except that last week it didn’t, which is just another reason why my entire belief system has pretty much been put on hold recently until I can find a new one.
There I was, an ordinary middle-aged mom, driving an ordinary station wagon full of Girl Scouts. And I was just leaving the school to drive them to their afternoon Girl Scout meeting when I got caught, red-handed, driving with such wild abandon that I somehow failed even to notice what I was doing.
I’m the lady who so hates to get in trouble of any kind that I carry cigars around just to remind myself that rules need not always apply. (I don’t smoke them, though. Why would I do that, when it could cause cancer and might make me throw up besides?)
Therefore, it was a terrible shame to so completely miss my one shining moment of transgression that I even needed Officer Bumpas there to tell me about it.
It seems that I pulled it off, moreover, in the mere half-block between pulling out of the middle school parking lot, which involved making a left turn into moving traffic, a situation in which it’s pretty much impossible to do anything but go the exact speed that will both avoid one lane of traffic and merge into the other; and then stopping a few yards later in a line of cars waiting at the light to make another left turn.
But I still managed, maybe even magically, to break the law!! I was so impressed that I didn’t even politely ask to see the radar, etc., as I now know I was supposed to have done. Officer Bumpas, thankfully, was right behind me, flashing his lights just as described in the Driver’s Ed manual. I first assumed they were after someone else, though finally worked out (through an elaborate exchange of sign language, which I won’t get into here) that he was my own personal Officer Bumpas and no other. So I pulled over.
Never having been a criminal before, I didn’t remember all the rules. Like that you aren’t supposed to open the car door because that means you might be armed and go on a murderous rage specifically aimed at law enforcement personnel. Officer Bumpas had to remind me. So I closed the door and rolled down my window instead. The officers in the cruiser then cautiously approached from both sides, now obviously realizing how dangerous I was. I felt completely guilty even before I knew what I had done.
The Girl Scouts in back, ever faithful and true, chose this moment to relieve the tension with some light conversation. Had I killed someone, they helpfully prompted? Shush, I said. We can’t make jokes. The police have us now and could do anything they want with us. We could get sent to Gitmo, even (though I didn’t say it.) Officer Bumpas arrived at my window and gravely explained that he’d pulled me over because I had been going 30 miles per hour in a school zone, and that he would now need all of my paperwork.
One of the Girl Scouts, unfortunately, then spotted Officer Bumpas’ name tag, and a strange huffling noise began in the back seat which I again had to reign in, very subtly, of course. (I’m telling you. GITMO.)
The officers took forever with my papers. Probably making extra efforts to check the lists of child molesters, drug smugglers, and people who’ve blown up Frisbees. All the while, of course, they left the cruiser light flashing so that all the other traffic pulling out of the school would be sure to notice what happens to law-breaking deviants such as myself, Ms. Almostgotit, right-here-are-you-SURE-you-all-can-see-me-now. Because here I am, being totally ARRESTED.
Gladly, I was only served a “Summons to Appear In Court,” which still seemed pretty dramatic to me until my husband explained it was legalese for “speeding ticket.” I also barely managed to get away before the back seat erupted completely.
As we drove VERY SLOWLY on (while the school buses whizzed by on either side, totally going thirty-FIVE), the helpful Girl Scouts proceeded to read aloud the very long litany of rules and regulations printed on their school-issued assignment folders. Later, they all told their mothers about me, so naturally I’ve been hearing about my police record all week. One mother, the Girl Scout Leader in fact, had occasion later that same afternoon to take a group photo while I was still in the vicinity.
As she focused her camera and prepared to take the shot I very clearly heard her say: “All right, everyone. Say: OFFICER BUMPAS!!!”
