Ticket Scare

So I’m going down the highway, approaching the crossroad where I need to take a left at the traffic light. The light is green until I get too close to stop, then it turns yellow. Of course.

I hate going through a yellow light, because I always wonder, should I have stopped? Could I have stopped? (I mean, without slamming on the brakes.) I always second guess that split-second decision a split second after making it.

I never go through a yellow just because I’m in a hurry — at least I don’t remember ever going through just to hurry. If I go through a yellow, it’s because I think I can’t safely stop in time. But there’s no real way of knowing for sure what the safe stopping distance is, and whether I’m at that distance or past it when the light turns yellow.

And no matter how close I fear I’ve come to the light changing to red on me, there’s always one (and sometimes two) more cars who come through after me. I usually throw an “Idiot!” or “Asshole!” at the guy in my rearview mirror. I mean, come on, if I think I’ve gone through too close to a change to red, what are the people coming through after me doing?

I don’t know if anyone came through the yellow after me this time, because as I turned left, my tires squealed. What the hell? I thought.

I didn’t think I was going nearly fast enough to squeal tires in a turn. I wasn’t going particularly fast at all — I wasn’t in a hurry, and I wasn’t intentionally trying to skirt through before a red. But the squeal surprised me, so I didn’t see who was behind me. I also didn’t see who else was at the intersection — just a bunch of traffic in all lanes.

Calfgrit8 was with me in the car, and he had previously said he was hungry for a snack. So as I made the left turn, I immediately pulled into a gas station store. I parked at the side door, and we got out of the car.

Inside, we grabbed us a snack, and Calfgrit5 a snack (I knew that if we got home and he saw his brother eating some chips, he’d be upset if he didn’t have some, too). As we were walking to the checkout line, I saw a highway patrol car cruise into the store parking lot.

The cruiser rounded the store, and seemed to slow down a moment at the back of my car. Oh, crap.

If that cop was at the intersection just a moment ago, he probably saw me drive through the yellow, and probably heard the tire squeal. It probably looked and sounded like a maniac, or an asshole, was plowing through the intersection without a care for safety.

Crap, crap, crap.

That gut-wrenching feeling of getting caught being bad ran through my body. Surely I was going to get a ticket. It’s been over twenty years since I’ve gotten a traffic ticket; I was bound to screw up sometime — the odds were catching up to me.

I really don’t need a ticket right now. I don’t know how it would affect my insurance rates, and I’ve heard that points on one’s license can affect one’s credit rating. Being currently almost homeless (living with my mother-in-law), with a new house less than five weeks away, I really, really don’t need any kind of problem that would mess up our plans.

I felt the stress fill my body. I wasn’t going to cry, but depression was building up. While waiting in the check out line with Calfgrit8 talking to me, I tried to peer out the store window. Was the patrolman parked next to my car? Was he waiting for me to come out of the store and get in my car? Could I wait him out?

That last thought seemed to come out of the blue. Could I wait him out? If Calgrit8 and I just hung out in the store for half an hour, would the cop move on? Was that a right thing to do? Was it a smart thing to do? Or was it a wuss thing to do? Should I just go on out and take the punishment?

I didn’t want to take any punishment. I mean, I didn’t intentionally run a yellow light and squeal my tires. I wasn’t trying to skirt the law and cut safety. But I know cops really can’t take intentions into account when applying the law. Crap. I mean, if you accidentally crash into someone, you still crashed into someone. Not intending too doesn’t make a difference.

Then the guy ahead of us at the counter had some trouble with his payment. That ate up some time. Then a customer came in and asked for his gas pump to be reset. The cashier made an error with the action, so that took up some more time.

Then as I was paying for our snacks, the cashier playfully joking with Calfgrit8 a bit before finishing our sale. “Did anyone tell you, you look just like him?” she said to him pointing at me. She said she had a family of boys, and she chatted for a few moments with us about raising boys and how fun and silly they can be. This ate up some more time of our store visit.

It actually wasn’t until after we were walking for the exit that it dawned on me how fate had conspired to “help” me wait out the inevitable confrontation that was waiting for me in the parking lot. But when we stepped outside, there was no cop car or cop anywhere in sight.

Could he be on the other side of the building, waiting for me to get in my car and drive away? Was there some rule that said I had to be in a moving vehicle for him to stop me and cite me for a violation witnessed earlier?

Before I could start the car, Calfgrit8 had dropped something in the back seat. We spent a minute looking for it, and the whole time I was thinking, I’m wasting more time; will it be enough to out wait the cop hiding for me?

Eventually, we were ready to roll. I started the car, backed out of the parking space, and made our way to the lot exit. I didn’t see a lawman anywhere around. Where the heck is he? I knew it was too much of a coincidence for the patrolman to pull into to the store lot right after my yellow-run and tire-squeal, especially since he slowed down and seemed to look over my car parked at the store.

I still had that bad-gut feel that I had seriously screwed up and was about to be punished for it. That stress that just won’t let any other thought creep in and sooth your mind. That feeling when you’re sent to your room to wait for your parents to decide your fate before coming in to confront you like vengeful gods.

I pulled out of the store lot and onto the road to head home. I was careful — extra careful — to mind and obey the speed limit. I kept both hands carefully on the wheel, as if good driving now would wash away the stupid act from ten minutes ago.

But we made it home with no interruption. And even after that long lull, I still didn’t feel relief. It was at least a half hour longer before I felt that I was really spared the punishment for a moment of dumbassedness.

Bullgrit