Speeding

In all fairness, I only exceed the speed limit when I have a good reason.

At the children’s “Back to School Night” at David Skeet Elementary several weeks ago, we were about fifteen minutes late. It’s not very often that we’re on time to places these days. One of the highlights of Back to School Night was that there was food provided. And it was good food, too: Subway. We love Subway. Imagine our dismay, upon our late arrival, to discover that all of the food was already taken. Apparently, people out here take their “free food” very seriously, enough to show up early. And it was especially painful watching children who had eaten three bites of their sandwiches throwing the rest in the trash. (We ate just fine when we got home, but it just wasn’t the same as free Subway, you know?)

In light of this, when they subsequently announced they would be having a parent information night (suspiciously misrepresented as “Family Fun Night”) and when I learned that there would be free banana splits on that occasion, I wanted to make sure we got there before they ran out.

All of this is to explain the compelling (in my mind) reason why I was flying down the Zuni Highway with a minivan full of family while going 70 miles per hour in a 55 mile-per-hour zone.

I got pulled over.

It kind of surprised me, too, because the policeman was driving toward me. Apparently they can detect your speed even while their car is in motion. He flipped on his flashers as he approached, and then as I pulled off to the shoulder and stopped, he flipped a U-turn and came up behind me.

I started to panic for several reasons. First, the obvious: The banana splits would probably be gone thanks to this unwelcome delay.

Then, the other, more alarming reasons: For one, the temporary registration on this minivan of ours is expired. I’ve been meaning to go register the vehicle here in New Mexico, but it hasn’t happened yet. Two, we have Esurance, which means you have to print out your own proof of insurance cards. You can imagine how wonderful I am at remembering to print them out when the old one expires. So, for all practical purposes, it’s going to appear to the policeman like we don’t have insurance, either.

He tells me that he’s stopped me for going 70 in a 55 and asks for my paperwork. I give him the expired registration, outdated insurance card, and my license.Two or three minutes later, he comes back with the dreaded extra document in hand.

And then he blows my mind: He says, “Okay, this is a written warning for speeding. Please keep it under 55.” I’m shocked. Then, he adds, “Oh, by the way, did you know your temporary is expired?” I tell him I’ve been meaning to take care of that. “Okay,” he nods, “Have a good day.”

We made it to the school in time for banana splits. They tasted even better after having feared we would miss out.

And now I don’t speed anymore, either. I figure I owe it to that kind, generous man for being so forgiving. Coolest cop ever. Seriously.

I love Gallup.