I was tired and I had to pee. I was just trying to get home. And since pretty much no one is on the roads on Thursday nights at eleven o’clock, I’ll admit it, I was going a little faster than I should have been. Besides, it was behind the JMU Convo, which, as everyone knows, should not have a speed limit of 25 mph. It’s basically a trap. A trap for drunken college students and sweet, innocent young girls who are driving (the long way) back from Open Mic Night. Gah.

The music wasn’t even on. I wasn’t texting. There were no distractions around to, well, distract me. I’m not a bad driver; I did everything right (I mean, except for speeding, obviously). I turned right on red after coming to a complete stop, and when I did the turn after Costco, it was a distinct shade of pee yellow when I turned, not red. But it wasn’t until I was behind Target when I saw those terrifying flashing blue lights in the rearview.

So, I know a particular redhead girl who has been stopped by cops four times, once for going a solid 65 mph in a 35 mph zone. She’s beautiful and maybe that’s what got her off the hook–each and every time–but considering it was late and I probably looked a little bedraggled, I didn’t try to push my luck. Instead, I went for the scared/shy/naive track.

Cop: Do you know why I stopped you, ma’am?
Me: Uh…I was…going…a little over?
Cop: You were doing 48 in a 25.
Me: Oh.
Cop: Did you not see me flashing my lights at you since the Sheetz?
Me: No, sorry, I’m sorry, I really didn’t. (So true. I had no idea he was behind me until I stopped.)
Cop: I thought you were running from me. I was going to chase you down.
Me: Oh. Haha. (nervous laughter. He is not amused.)
Cop: License and registration, please.
Me: Okay…um…I don’t really know where my registration is.

And then I this point, I rummaged around hopefully, and he whips out a piece of paper, miraculously, before stalking off to the the police car behind me, with the lights still flashing.

I sat in my car, for a solid 20 minutes, praying fervently that I wouldn’t get a ticket or pee in my pants from the pressure of my bladder or fear of the cop. But I guess divine intervention doesn’t always work out. As he handed me the paper I had to sign and with the phrase, ‘charge of reckless driving’ ringing in my mind, I frantically ran over the things I had done that day, to see if karma was just getting back at me for some felonious deed.

And when I got home (where my parents were surprisingly relaxed, though I’m sure they’ll get more worried as the court date approaches) I looked up reckless driving. It’s a misdemeanor.
Crap, I thought to myself. I’m never going to get into college. I’m going to get my license taken away. I won’t be able to drive to school. I won’t be able to drive anywhere! Parents won’t let me drive their kids around! My life is ruined!
But, as per usual, it’s not. I suppose.

Lesson?: The sensible lesson is to drive straight home after things, rather than meandering along and putting off my inevitable return home. Also, don’t speed, and look in the rear view more often.
It happens to everyone, I suppose.

Sigh.