When we don't get what we deserve...

So I'm driving home from work the other day. It was my day off, but there was a meeting I just had to attend. I showed up in my overalls, caused a stir, and in fifteen minutes was back out on the road with the windows down and the Everly brothers on the radio. It was fine sunny weather with a steady breeze which down graded my lack of air conditioning from 'Hot as Hell' to 'mildly annoying'. My further lack of underwear also helped.

I got to the stop light at Broadway and 19th when out of the corner of my eye I notice a motorcycle slip into my blind spot. The action was smooth and quick; the mark of a professional. I should have known better than to turn and look, but just like the rubber-necking yokels around here who bring traffic to a crawl for the slightest fender bender, I craned anyway to see one of 'Moore's Finest' staring back at me. Before realizing what was happening, I whipped my head back around and looked straight forward, like nothing was wrong. This is a sure sign of guilt in porcine circles, and the bastard knew he had me.

When the green light came, I took off slowly still thinking to give an appearace that "All is well". The cop waited for about twenty yards of space between us before slipping in behind my clearly marked, Texas registered vehicle. The speed limit is 40 mph along that stretch of road. We were doing thrity-seven. At a hundred yards before the next intersection, I made sure to use my signal, just like they taught in Driver's Ed. The dark sunglasses I had on prevented the cop from seeing how many times I'd checked where he was in the rear view, as if that mattered. When I turned left onto Eastern, he turned on his lights. I wanted to puke.

Now to clear things up a bit: For the record, I acknowledge the fact that I am a man of many faults. Yes, I have a tendency to be a bit proud and probably self absorbed from time to time. I don't always follow through on my word and sometimes give a half hearted effort at the worst possible moments. I don't return phone calls as often as I should. I duck bill collectors like a prize fighter instead of paying on time. I'll fart in public places and quickly hide around corners just to hear little children yell, "Ewww, Mommy! What's that smell?!" I cry during war movies. Faults? I have them. All of these I openly admit to here in print for the world to see. Yet none of these things are nearly as bad, nor have they proved more troublesome than my habit to procrastinate. Observe:

I pulled over quickly, just far enough to be out of the intersection. The street wasn't as busy at that time as it would be around 4 pm, but the Seven-Eleven across the way was full, and people stared. The cop was slow to leave his bike, assumably running the plates at lunch time took awhile, and I think he liked letting me stew in sweat. My mind played out a multitude of scenerios, not the least of which included making a run for it. I'd love it in Mexico, especially this time of year. Fortunately the sub-conscience had control of my hands and already turned the engine off, turned the hazards on, and turned the radio down before the Fear took hold.

He approached, tapped on the car just behind the driver's side window and said, "Excuse me sir. I happened to notice that your tags are well past expired. Did you know that?"

Did I know that? Merciful God, the tags expired in February of '04. It was now June of '05, of course I knew that. He knew it. The people at the Seven-Eleven across the street knew it. BIRDS AND AIRLINERS AT 5000 FT. KNEW IT! I'd spent much of the year finding "better things" to spend my money on, swearing on each new pay check to get the car right. Besides, I was in Oklahoma, how would they tell anything was amiss? They don't have registration stickers like we Texans, for all they knew I was just passing through.

I managed for an answer a weak, "Uh, yessir. Yessir I did."

"Well. [sniff] Let me see your license and insurance."

Oh! Oh he knew. The stupid, frozen look on my face told him all he needed to know. This was the mother lode! Not only did he have a Texan with expired tags in his custody, but one driving in his town without insurance as well. Bored cops lust for these chance happenings; I was his dirty, yellow "Belle of the Ball".

"Uh, well sir. Here's my license, but I don't think this car has any insurance." Don't think? I knew it didn't. I won't say for how long it hadn't, but suffice it to say it'd been awhile. A long while. I hadn't realized just how long until the cop was standing there.

"This is my brother's car and I know I shouldn't be driving it but I had a meeting at work and just needed..." All prattle. Actually, that was a half truth. I knew I shouldn't have been driving it and technically the car was my brother's, but he'd given it to me a long, long time ago. I just hadn't changed the title and registration yet.

He lifted his eyebrows and smiled knowingly. "You don't have insurance? Do you know if he's insured it?"

"Uh, n-no sir." My fear-stink was undeniable.

"All right Mr. Jackson..." He took down some personal info and with my license headed back to his bike. I felt sick and self-abused. My conscience was raining down firey hail from on high. I had known about the Good Grace afforded me when it came to the car. The vehicle had been given freely as a gift from by brother and sister-in-law when I needed it most. There had been many opportunities to get things right on it, but so far, other than a tire and lube change, I failed to take advantage of them. And what had this encounter jepordized? What if my brother was to recieve some punishment for my inaction? How could I make that up to him? How was I going to finish school or go to work if they took the car away? What if I was arrested, how would that turn out? I'm no hardened criminal; they rape guys like me for sport in prison. The officer's return went unnoticed as my mind bent itself around these things.

"Okay, Mr. Jackson."

I sat bolt upright and braced for it. Would this hurt? And for how long?

"I'm going to let you go with a warning on the windshield, you need to get that crack fixed. And since I know you're new here and the rules are different in Texas, I'm going to let the tag issue go. Just so you know, in Oklahoma, any car with tags expired more than ninety days can be towed, so get it fixed quick. The insurance though is something I can't abide. You're going to have to pay for that one. Just show up in court by Monday with proof, and things should work out."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I kept blinking and nodding. This guy, for reasons explained only by Divine Providence, was practically letting me go! He could have ruined me right then and there and I had no defense. But he decided not to.

"Uh, yessir. I'll get all these issues addressed when I get home. Thank you sir." I was signing tickets and babling at the same time.

"So, what do you think of the traffic up here? It's a lot thinner than down in Houston isn't it? My brother used to live down there..."

I honestly don't remember the rest, what with the blood rushing in my ears. I wanted to take off, fly, get home quickly and figure out what had happened here. Needless to say, when I did get home, GEICO got a phone call. And so did the Texas DPS. It's going to cost me somewhere around $400 to get all this cleared up, since an added penalty for driving uninsured is a suspended license, but all things considered, I got off light. Not that I should have, I was guilty. But it's nice when a lesson can be learned gently with slap on the wrist, and not with a ball-peen hammer.