1234...41 in a 25

"Do you know why I pulled you over?" the officer asked.

As someone who takes pride in his quips and sarcastic comebacks, the best I could muster was "I'm gonna guess I was speeding."

I left myself an out. "Gonna guess." I knew exactly how fast I was going. I did think it was a 30 mph speed limit though.

Why do officers ask you that? You can't tell the truth or what you want to say:

• You have nothing better to do than pull me over in my jalopy
• You hate your life
• 'Cause it's your job
• Seriously officer. Did you look at my car as you walked up? You should be amazed my car made it to 41. In fact you should be paying me.
  
• You're trying to oppress me, the poor cracka who's working a job for barely over minimum wage, who is going home for the 30th night in a row with dim prospects for the future, who didn't have a valentine, just add this to the heap of crap going sour in my life
  

I took my ticket. I wasn't happy about it. This was my first ticket, ever. My pristine record tarnished by the repulsive Elmhurst 5-0.

There are a few people I can blame for this bad twist of fate:

1. My boss. I went to talk to him to see if he had any info about internships at another magazine I'm thinking of applying to. Thus, I didn't leave at 4:59 p.m. as I usually do. I left at 5:15 p.m., aka prime time for police clocking those going home on a Friday night.
2. Feist--My iPod somehow rejuvenated itself like a phoenix and gave me a little juice for the ride home. I was bopping my head, dancing in the car and gave a bit too much action on the gas.
3. Naturally, the cop. I have an "aged" car and no previous record.
4. The slow poke who was in front of me on the side street who made me want to make up for lost time.

That's my vent. Now I have to drive around with a slip of shame instead of my license.