Despite being 14 miles over the speed limit, I did not get a ticket that day. Perhaps there was something about a carful of kids who had driven all night to see the ocean that moved the officer to give me a warning instead. I thanked him and drove away.
Over the next few years, I wasn't quite as lucky, and I confess to receiving several speeding tickets. Lately, though, my streak has been pretty good. I've gone 25 years with just a single citation, and that one was six years ago, but when I blew past that cop in Pennsylvania doing 73 in a 55 zone this afternoon, I knew I was busted even before he turned on to the road. I moved to the right lane and waited for him to get behind me and turn on his lights. I glided to a stop on the side of the road, considerately rolling a little ways past the dead deer carcass. If he wanted to chide me, he was out of luck; there was no pounding heart, no sweaty palms, and certainly no tears. I gave the young man my documents, secure in the strength of my driving record.
We listened to the radio and chatted while he sat in his cruiser and did his duty, and when he returned, it was not with a speeding ticket, but rather a lesser citation. I thanked him and drove away.
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