…Or do you just like harassing people?
It is no secret that most small towns around here are “speed traps”. I’m sure you’re all familiar with them — the places with sudden, drastic reductions in speed with little or no warning.
My husband drives, if I remember correctly, at least 30,000 miles per year for work. He got caught in one trap about an hour away. This one came in the form of a school zone that starts 30 minutes earlier than all the other school zones in the area. It wasn’t one of the ones we have that say “Speed Limit 25 When Flashing”. It was one of those with the times spelled out, and you have to see what time it is and figure out whether it’s between those hours very quickly.
He drives a company vehicle, so any infractions count not only against him, but against his employer.
At any rate, he went to the mayor’s court, owned up to his guilt, but pled his case for his employer’s sake and the insurance they pay for. The mayor and the chief of police graciously reduced the fine to a level that would not go on the record. We all attended, as something of a homeschool field trip, so the kids could see how one conducts oneself in court (even one as informal as this one was). They got to see how a number of cases played out before their Daddy was called up.
Today, something quite different happened.
There is a long, straight stretch of interstate between two cities that my beloved Shay travels quite often. The speed limit is 60 miles per hour. Coming home today, he got on that stretch of road, and called me so I could look into a traffic situation at the next city that he had heard about. I told him I’d call him back when I was able to find out details. We don’t have long or frequent conversations when he’s driving; he just calls occasionally about traffic.
(I don’t know about other states, but it is not illegal here to talk on a cell phone while driving. However, we rarely do it.)
When I called him back, I didn’t get an answer. I didn’t think anything of it… it happens now and then. I figured I’d wait a bit and try again.
What I didn’t know was that he had been pulled over.
The policeman came up to the window and informed him that he had been doing 78 miles per hour.
Shay respectfully and apologetically replied that he didn’t do that. The policeman asked if my husband was calling him a liar.
“No, sir, but this is my job. I get on this highway, and I set my cruise control on 61 miles per hour. I can’t afford to drive like that. I’d lose my job.”
The policeman messed around with him for a few more minutes, and then got in his car. Eventually, he let Shay go.
Shay started back home, shaking for miles from the stress. The policeman had endangered his job, accusing him of something he had not done. And the man knew Shay hadn’t done it, because I’m sure he would not have let a man off the hook whom he knew had been doing almost 20mph over the limit.
When I did reach him on the phone, I could tell something was wrong. It was confirmed when he got home, but it was a while before he relaxed enough to tell me what had happened.
My beloved husband is under enough stress. He didn’t need this.