Riding in the car with my Dad is
a religious experience. Shortly after
take-off, you realize that the rules of the road do not apply to him. In fact, he proudly practices “offensive
driving.” Stop signs and stop lights are
a “suggestion.” It is inconceivable that
a driver would slow down for a yield sign.
“It says, ‘Yield’, not ‘Surrender’!”
He scoffs at “Wrong Way” signs.
“How does the DOT know where I’m going?” Similarly, he thinks “Deer Crossing” signs are ridiculous. “How do the deer know to cross there?” About a mile or two into the trip, I always find
myself begging the Almighty for help. Thanks to the fervent prayers of his
passengers and despite several near death experiences, Dad has always managed
to get safely to his destination and home again. For over forty years, he’d never even gotten
a ticket. But one day, coming home from
church with Mom in the car, Dad’s luck almost ran out.
Most folks who live in
Fayetteville know that Bragg Boulevard is a speed trap on Sundays. But that Sunday, the preacher had droned on well
past noon. Dad, hungry and worn out from
all the sitting, singing, and standing, was high-tailing it down the highway craving
a good lunch. Anxious to avoid a crowd,
he wanted to get to the restaurant before the Baptist Church services ended. He’d forgotten about the speed trap until –
about 10 minutes into the trip - a flashing blue light and siren jolted him
into reality. He realized he’d been
going at least fifteen miles over the speed limit and that there was no way out
of a ticket this time.
As the officer walked up to the
car, Dad rolled down his window. “Sir,”
asked the officer, “Do you know why I stopped you?” Before Dad could answer, Mom, highly agitated
from the preceding 10 minute ride of death, leaned over toward the policeman and
demanded, “What I want to know is where you people have been for the last 30
years! This man drives like a
maniac. He’s almost killed me hundreds
of times. Every time I have to get in a
car with this wild man, I ask God, ‘Lord, please send help.’ But, where are the police when you need them? You never show up. What does it take to get your attention? That’s what I want to know! Did he run over a nun with an orphan in her
arms back there?”
The officer interrupted her diatribe and ordered Dad out of
the car. He asked him to walk around to
the back of the car.
With pity in his voice and a look
of sincere compassion in his eyes, the officer asked, “Sir, is that your wife
in there?” Dad could only barely nod.
The two married men at once formed a bond born of years of shared trials
and tribulations.
The officer placed a sympathetic
hand on Dad’s shoulder, “Sir, I tell you what.
If I let you go with a warning, will you promise to take your wife out
to some place nice for lunch today? I
think she needs a break.”
Dad barely contained his joy and
astonishment. “I promise. I’ll take her over to K&W and get her
anything she wants,” he answered.
“Well, try to keep that old car
under the double nickel, Sir.” The
officer gave Dad a final pat on the back and headed back to his patrol car.
Fortunately, the officer couldn’t hear Mom’s reaction to
Dad’s escape from the clutches of the Fayetteville Police Department. I’m told she went on for quite some
time. By the time they got to the
K&W, she was so upset she couldn’t even eat. But Dad chowed down his fried chicken and
mashed potatoes with a hearty relish and congratulated himself on evading the
law once again.
So there you have it. A sure way to get out of a ticket. Of course you’ll always
have to drive with someone who can pitch a fit at the drop of a hat. Or, better still, just drive safely and
you’ll have no worries.
