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
There are a few people I can blame for this bad twist of fate:
- 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.
- 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.
- Naturally, the cop. I have an "aged" car and no previous record.
- The slow poke who was in front of me on the side street who made me want to make up for lost time.