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This happened a while ago, but the justice system in our country is, ahem, slightly fucked. What can we expect with a convicted felon leading the high office? Makes my minor speeding bump seem like cake compared to a fucking insurrection (see January 6 if you’re totally ignorant). Anyway, I digress…

This story began on a beautiful October morning as I was heading out to see my friend Missy in Connecticut. I’d programmed the destination into my phone and was heading out the prescribed route along Albany Shaker Road when I decided to take an earlier left onto Osborne, as that route was prettier and I hardly ever went that way. The phone would re-route me, so I turned left and then immediately remembered I’d forgotten the requisite bag of Chex mix (in Bold, thank you). Making a quick turnaround to Price Chopper, or Market 32, or whatever that ill-thought-out switch resulted in, I picked up the Chex mix and headed back out. Once again the phone’s route wanted me to stay straight on Albany-Shaker, and for the second time I ignored it, opting for the earlier left turn along a seemingly prettier path.
Sunlight dappled through the fall foliage and I was losing myself in the old-school fall musical mix I made for the ride when I suddenly realized my toiletries bag was back at home. Turning around again, the leisurely trip was becoming a bit too leisurely. Once the bag of lip balm and fragrance was in the car, the original route on the phone was still me to stay the path on Albany-Shaker, and for a third time I dismissed the plan, insisting on going the more beautiful way.

By now a bit behind on my scheduled departure, I was going over the speed limit by let’s say approximately 18 miles per hour, and before I could slow it down, a police officer was frantically waiving his hands and pointing at me from across the street. (I’d learned the hard way that this meant pull over, as opposed to a friendly officer just telling me to pass on and keep moving, which I’d once mistakenly assumed was happening in a speed trap on the Massachusetts Turnpike many years ago.)

Officer Red Head was livid – and so unfathomably angry from the outset that I wondered if I should call Andy. These are dangerous times.

“What are you DOING?!?!” he screamed. And I mean SCREAMED. There was a time, decades ago, when I was rather accustomed to irate cops who had pulled me over, but this was extreme and out of proportion for a speeding charge. My loose plan of asking if it would help if I my husband was a cop, while batting my eyelashes, went out the window as it suddenly felt ill-advised, so I held my tongue and tried to think of de-escalation exercises in the face of this crashing out cop.

Officer Red kept going on a tirade, even after procuring my driver’s license. “You live near here!! You know there’s a school here!! You’re going 18 over the speed limit!!!” His anger seemed to be growing on top of itself, making him more and more angry, and I was unsure how to calm the shit-show down.
“I’m sorry officer,” I said calmly, not wanting to set this temperamental person off any more. He wasn’t quite done, but the yelling had turned to a stern lecture. Maybe he realized he was the only one yelling and getting upset, and at that point he told me to wait there (as opposed to fleeing the scene without my license?)

When he came back a few minute later, he seemed like a totally different person. Handing me my license and a ticket, he spoke like human being and said I could just pay it or go to court, but they were always crowded there I might just want to pay it. I said thank you because at that point it felt best to get away from this person as soon as safely possible. His over-the-top anger had shaken me a bit, haunting me for the whole ride to Connecticut.

Cut to this week. Andy had insisted on going to court and not pleading guilty in an effort to get as few points as possible. After sitting in a packed court-adjacent room at the Colonie Courthouse, the proposed four points were whittled down to zero points, and instead of speeding I’d get a parking by a hydrant citation, with a fine and court fee. Relieved and grateful for no points, we got out of there and waited for the bill to arrive. It came a few days later, and the cost of ignoring the universe after its repeated attempts to keep me on Albany-Shaker was a whopping $325. That’s a whole damn bottle of Tom Ford Cologne.

The lesson for me in all the yelling and screaming, aside from keeping within 10 miles per hour of the posted speed limit, is to listen to the universe when it gently tries to guide you – pay heed to the seemingly minor nudges it makes. In this case, if I’d following the original route after two warnings, I’d have been fine at my 48 miles per hour, and entirely avoided a run-in with Officer Crazy Cranky Pants, as well as the hefty price tag that came along with it.

(The clown show at the court might have to be a totally separate post – oh fuck it, I can sum it up by saying that a stomach-baring half-shirt doesn’t work on every body, and not for any court of law ever.)

Stay safe out there.