11 Jan

UPDATE:  I got a text from person in photo involved with Ticket #1.  If it had anything to do with this post, I apologize, and only referred to person as ‘douche’ to maintain anonymity.

I don’t speed much anymore, but as I was sitting talking to my co-workers the other day about car insurance premiums, I realized that the tickets I’ve gotten often resulted from pretty funny stories.  I’ve only gotten two, so this shouldn’t take long.

Ticket #1: It was the end of April 2008.  I had just finished my first year of graduate school in Wilmington, North Carolina and I was ACHING to go north.  I had recently begun seeing (I’m not going to call it dating, as the douche never fully let me know where our “relationship” stood) an old flame from college who was living in the Washington DC area, and two weeks prior, I had surprised him at his DC apartment after not having seen him for two years.  Unrequited?  Hardly.  The weekend after that, he showed up in Wilmington to celebrate my birthday with me.  Which brings the story to the weekend school was finally out, and I decided to drive to DC on my way home to Ohio.

I had a great weekend with him, and I was floating high on young-kid emotions and the way I used to feel.  Blessid Union of Souls was blasting from my Neon’s speakers and I was cruising across the state of Pennsylvania with a smile on my face, the windows down, and a Diet Mountain Dew in my hand.  Sounds glorious, right?  When I crossed the Ohio state line, I got so so so excited to be close to home that I must have pressed on the gas pedal a little too hard.  The deputy pulled me over, and despite my smiling, my glowing, and my flirting, I got my first speeding ticket.

It brought me down only a few clouds from my high, as I turned the radio back up and continue to smile the rest of the way home, almost proud to show my father that I’d done something wrong.  I figured my parents would be happy that I was so excited to get to them.

Ticket #2: This story is a little more ridiculous.  That same summer in August, I “chaperoned” a date between two shy friends on a Friday night.  When I say chaperoned, I mean that I took my shy friend, and my buddy took his shy friend and we put them together and went out with them to a bar in Ashland.  Needless to say, I got pretty guttered on Long Island Iced Teas that these truckers were buying me.  We made it back to a friend’s house in Ashland (after I threw up in the bushes) and fell asleep.

Prior to this, I had been pretty psyched for this weekend.  I was going to be a chaperon that Friday, and then Saturday I had a bachelorette party in Put-In-Bay for a girl whose wedding I was a bridesmaid in later that month.  I thought I’d set my alarm to wake up at 8 that following morning to give myself enough time for the hour and a half drive back to Fremont.  We were leaving at 11:00 for the ferry ride to the Islands and I needed time to get ready, too.

I woke in a panic at 9:00 am, grabbed my possessions including a half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan, and ran out of my friend’s house, stumbling and passing out in the street, luckily only landing on my pillow and losing a flip-flop.  I stood again and ran to the Neon and climbed in.  I took off faster than anything.  About 20 minutes into the drive, I realized I hadn’t peed all morning after a night of heavy drinking, but I figured I could make it.

I’d also realized I hadn’t washed my face, so I reached into my toiletry bag and applied a face mask that turns white upon drying.  Another 15 minutes in, and I really had to pee.  I couldn’t stop anywhere now, not with a white mask all over my face, so I just unzipped my pants (to relieve pressure–not to pee).

When I finally turned onto my road, I was 15 miles from my house, and I was floating, going upwards of 80 mph in a 55 mph zone.  And I got pulled over.

Immediate thoughts:  Oh fuck.  I have a half bottle of Captain.  I’m sweating alcohol.  I’m probably still drunk.  I have a mask on my face.  I still have to pee.  OMG MY PANTS ARE UNZIPPED.

As the officer pulled up behind me, I decided the most important thing to do was to hide the bottle of Captain, or else he surely would think that I was drinking and driving.  I slid it under the seat in time to turn my unzipped pants and white face to him, hand him my license and registration, and kindly ask him to make it quick.  I had to pee.

I made it to the bachelorette party–eating a ham and cheese Hot Pocket in the shower and still catching the ferry with the rest of my friends.  And you’ll never believe who I met once I got to Put-In-Bay:




Posted by on January 11, 2011 in When I Was Young


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3 responses to “Speeding

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