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Saturday, August 22, 2015

I was Nearly Arrested Yesterday!

You said what, Pinky???

I was running late for work yesterday and was annoyed to notice two police cars parked on the side of the road and a rangy policeman waving me over on to a side street. 

As I said, I was already late and it was a bit inconvenient. I considered putting my foot down and squealing off with my tyres smoking and my rude finger pressed up against the window but I thought that might make me even later to school… you know, in the long run.

I pulled up beside the cop and wound down my window. “Good morning,” said the twelve year old, rosy cheeked policeman. “We’re doing random checks on vehicles. Did you drink any alcohol last night, madam?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” I replied, hoping I’d make him laugh and then he’d say, “On your way then you cheeky, old bugger.”

But he just blinked. “Had a good night’s sleep and some breakfast though I hope?”

I nodded mutely, even though I hadn’t slept well at all and definitely hadn’t eaten breakfast. I could see this policeman had no sense of humour whatsoever.

“Can I see your licence please, madam?” he asked without smiling and clicking his heels together.

It was at this point I started to get nervous. My hands shook as the policeman watched me searching through my wallet in a fluster and my credit cards and shite spilled on to my lap and the floor and all the while he stared at me in an accusatory fashion. 

I hadn’t done anything wrong. Why was I acting so guilty for God’s sake? Why do cops always make me feel guilty?

“I’m going to need you to supply a breath sample, madam,” he smirked, as he unwrapped a tube from a plastic bag and plugged it into a walkie talkie thing.

My brain began to spiral in an uncontrolled vortex. How many drinks had I actually scoffed down last night? We’d had my friend and real estate agent, Nettie, over and I’d gone a bit silly. What time did I have my last one? Ten o’clock? 
Yes. My last drink was at ten o’clock and I’d had about five drinks over the night. That meant my liver should theoretically have finished its mopping up of vile toxins by three o’clock in the morning and it was currently seven-thirty so unless there was something seriously wrong with my hepatic system (which wouldn’t surprise me) I should be in the clear.

Then I remembered the mouth wash I’d used less than 5 minutes before. What if that was enough to put me over the limit? 

Damn my obsession with clean breath. Would they let me make one phone call so I could let my Deputy Principal know I'd been arrested so she'd have to get someone else to do my oval duty at big lunch? Would they cuff me and push my head down as I got into the cop car?

The young policeman watched the numbers clicking on his machine as I huffed and wheezed into the tube and I swear he looked disappointed at the final result.

"Have a nice day," he grimaced in defeat.

As I drove off, the older cop (the one much closer to my age), yelled out to me exuberantly,“Why does your number plate say ‘Pinky P’ when your car’s yellow?”

I poked my head out the window, “It’s not my car,” I shouted. “I stole it!”

I could see him laughing in the rear vision window as I puttered off.

Life is wasted on the young.

Have you been pulled over ever?
Did you make any jokes?
Do you get nervous in an unwarranted way or are you actually a criminal?