Disclaimer: I have nothing but respect for the men and women who dedicate their lives to law enforcement. It is my sincere hope that this post is taken as a "funny" story, and not an avocation to go forth and break driving laws indiscriminately. Besides...think of the story that my hapless officer had to tell his fellow troopers that day!
I saw him a second after he shot me…with his radar gun. The red and blues came on, and he executed a crisp entry onto the interstate, in pursuit of me and my Porsche Cayenne, the only car in sight for miles…and miles…and miles of flat, brown, Texas countryside.
“Crap, crap, crap!” I pounded my fists on my steering wheel and glanced down at my speedometer, while simultaneously stomping on my brakes and preparing to pull over. “83??? What the hell? That’s keeping up with traffic when driving in Texas!” “Porsche Profiling” had struck again. The struggle is real, people.
Let me back up a sec and explain how I found myself on I-40 in the middle of the Texas hinterlands on that sunny September day. I had taken a wandering road trip from Wichita through Taos and Santa Fe, with my final destination being Albuquerque, NM, to acquire our new family member, Maine Coon kitten, Dany. She and I had been enjoying ourselves on our drive home, singing to 80s Hair Bands (she meowed along semi-enthusiastically; I attributed it to her not knowing the words,) and occasionally listening to Diana Gabaldon's “Outlander” on AudioBooks. She and I were having a discussion about why EVERYONE automatically fell in love with Jamie Fraser (females, males, horses, dogs, etc.,) when the shooting occurred.
“Think, Julie,” I muttered to myself. “You can talk your way out of this!” And how, you might ask was I planning to do that? By going into “Crazy Cat Lady” mode, of course!
By this time, we were stopped, and I had my license and insurance card in hand. He approached the passenger side window, a virtual poster boy for the Texas State Troopers. Crisp uniform, impeccable posture, and the obligatory reflecting aviator sunglasses. I enthusiastically rolled down my passenger window, and smiled at him.
“Is there a problem Officer? Do I have a light out or something?” I inquired innocently.
“No, ma’am,” said Officer Thomason (I had glanced at his name tag,) “I stopped you because you were exceeding the posted speed limit of 75MPH. I clocked you at 83MPH. May I have your driver’s license and insurance card?”
“Whaaat?!?! Oh, I’m so sorry!! Here you go. I guess that I was just enjoying my road trip so much, and your beautiful state, that I may not have been paying attention.”
And then it began…
“See Officer Thomason, I took a road trip to Albuquerque, through Taos…it’s so cool…have you ever been there...and Santa Fe, and stayed with my sister for a couple of days! I LOVE Albuquerque! Anyway, she and I bought littermate kittens from a lady in Washington…State, not DC…and Vickie’s been holding my kitten until I could pick her up…the kitten…HA…not my sister! She’s right here,” I pulled the carrier up a tad, so that Dany could bat her eyelashes, rub against the carrier door, and give him a flirtatious meow. “Her name is Daenerys Targarycoon, because she’s a Maine Coon cat and she’s named after the platinum blond queen on The Game of Thrones. You know…Mother of Dragons, Stormborn, Khaleesi? We call her Dany, though. Would you like to pet her? She’s such a sweetie! Maybe I could even take a picture of you two together?”
At this point, Officer Thompson had observed my rather eclectic attire. Dressed in my best “Cat Lady” chic, I was wearing retro cat eye sunglasses, a Darth Kitty tee-shirt (in homage to both Star Wars and cats,) and my blazing copper hair was spiked to perfection. Dangling from my ears were my Outlaw Kitty earrings, featuring fanged skull and crossbones kitties, and of course I had on the matching necklace. Topping it all off, my black tee-shirt was covered with cream and white Dany fur. Stylish…yep, that’s me!
The longer I talked, though I could not SEE them, I knew that his eyes were glazing over behind those reflective Ray-Bans. YESSSSSSS, he was weakening…
He graciously declined to pet or be photographed with Dany (his loss, but let me just say that my Queen was not amused, and threatened to loose her dragons on him for the insult,) and wandered back to his cruiser in a cat induced haze.
When he returned, he handed me a ticket (Crap.) but then explained, “Ma’am, this is a warning ticket. I’m going to let you go with this today, but I caution you to please observe the posted speed limit, and to keep everyone safe…including your kitten.” Awwww…how sweet was that?
Still smiling brightly, I thanked him for his service, and bade him to “Stay safe” out there.
Tucking my license and insurance card back in my wallet, I contemplated exiting using the full capabilities of my quick, yet fuel-efficient, TurboDiesel, but a quick risk analysis pointed out that: I look hideous in orange; I enjoy having a driver’s license and a car; and my husband would probably NOT bail me out….Dany, yes…me, no.
I flipped on my turn signal, and cautiously pulled out onto the still deserted interstate, setting my cruise control to a sedate 75MPH. We still had miles to go before reaching Wichita. Damnit, this was going to set me back a bit. Oh well…
“So Dany…what do YOU think it is about Jamie? His strapping build, red hair, blue eyes, kilt…?”
“Meow,” replied my wee cheetie.
“Crap, crap, crap!” I pounded my fists on my steering wheel and glanced down at my speedometer, while simultaneously stomping on my brakes and preparing to pull over. “83??? What the hell? That’s keeping up with traffic when driving in Texas!” “Porsche Profiling” had struck again. The struggle is real, people.
Let me back up a sec and explain how I found myself on I-40 in the middle of the Texas hinterlands on that sunny September day. I had taken a wandering road trip from Wichita through Taos and Santa Fe, with my final destination being Albuquerque, NM, to acquire our new family member, Maine Coon kitten, Dany. She and I had been enjoying ourselves on our drive home, singing to 80s Hair Bands (she meowed along semi-enthusiastically; I attributed it to her not knowing the words,) and occasionally listening to Diana Gabaldon's “Outlander” on AudioBooks. She and I were having a discussion about why EVERYONE automatically fell in love with Jamie Fraser (females, males, horses, dogs, etc.,) when the shooting occurred.
“Think, Julie,” I muttered to myself. “You can talk your way out of this!” And how, you might ask was I planning to do that? By going into “Crazy Cat Lady” mode, of course!
By this time, we were stopped, and I had my license and insurance card in hand. He approached the passenger side window, a virtual poster boy for the Texas State Troopers. Crisp uniform, impeccable posture, and the obligatory reflecting aviator sunglasses. I enthusiastically rolled down my passenger window, and smiled at him.
“Is there a problem Officer? Do I have a light out or something?” I inquired innocently.
“No, ma’am,” said Officer Thomason (I had glanced at his name tag,) “I stopped you because you were exceeding the posted speed limit of 75MPH. I clocked you at 83MPH. May I have your driver’s license and insurance card?”
“Whaaat?!?! Oh, I’m so sorry!! Here you go. I guess that I was just enjoying my road trip so much, and your beautiful state, that I may not have been paying attention.”
And then it began…
“See Officer Thomason, I took a road trip to Albuquerque, through Taos…it’s so cool…have you ever been there...and Santa Fe, and stayed with my sister for a couple of days! I LOVE Albuquerque! Anyway, she and I bought littermate kittens from a lady in Washington…State, not DC…and Vickie’s been holding my kitten until I could pick her up…the kitten…HA…not my sister! She’s right here,” I pulled the carrier up a tad, so that Dany could bat her eyelashes, rub against the carrier door, and give him a flirtatious meow. “Her name is Daenerys Targarycoon, because she’s a Maine Coon cat and she’s named after the platinum blond queen on The Game of Thrones. You know…Mother of Dragons, Stormborn, Khaleesi? We call her Dany, though. Would you like to pet her? She’s such a sweetie! Maybe I could even take a picture of you two together?”
At this point, Officer Thompson had observed my rather eclectic attire. Dressed in my best “Cat Lady” chic, I was wearing retro cat eye sunglasses, a Darth Kitty tee-shirt (in homage to both Star Wars and cats,) and my blazing copper hair was spiked to perfection. Dangling from my ears were my Outlaw Kitty earrings, featuring fanged skull and crossbones kitties, and of course I had on the matching necklace. Topping it all off, my black tee-shirt was covered with cream and white Dany fur. Stylish…yep, that’s me!
The longer I talked, though I could not SEE them, I knew that his eyes were glazing over behind those reflective Ray-Bans. YESSSSSSS, he was weakening…
He graciously declined to pet or be photographed with Dany (his loss, but let me just say that my Queen was not amused, and threatened to loose her dragons on him for the insult,) and wandered back to his cruiser in a cat induced haze.
When he returned, he handed me a ticket (Crap.) but then explained, “Ma’am, this is a warning ticket. I’m going to let you go with this today, but I caution you to please observe the posted speed limit, and to keep everyone safe…including your kitten.” Awwww…how sweet was that?
Still smiling brightly, I thanked him for his service, and bade him to “Stay safe” out there.
Tucking my license and insurance card back in my wallet, I contemplated exiting using the full capabilities of my quick, yet fuel-efficient, TurboDiesel, but a quick risk analysis pointed out that: I look hideous in orange; I enjoy having a driver’s license and a car; and my husband would probably NOT bail me out….Dany, yes…me, no.
I flipped on my turn signal, and cautiously pulled out onto the still deserted interstate, setting my cruise control to a sedate 75MPH. We still had miles to go before reaching Wichita. Damnit, this was going to set me back a bit. Oh well…
“So Dany…what do YOU think it is about Jamie? His strapping build, red hair, blue eyes, kilt…?”
“Meow,” replied my wee cheetie.