While driving home from town earlier this week, I got pulled over by a city cop. If you know me, you know that I am a fairly safe driver - certainly not a speeder. Going 5 miles over the speed limit is about as daring as I get, mostly because I don't like to worry and watch for police. Because I don't like to deal with city traffic, I often take the back-roads home. It means driving 55 on county roads, but I like the scenery and I miss the hassle of town. I kind of like the slow pace of the back-roads.
So there I was driving out of town on Plato where the speed limit is actually 30 mph in front of Bethel Church, but turning to 45 after you go over the railroad. As soon as I saw the cop car, I looked down and noticed I was going 40, and he pulled out behind me. Then he turned his lights on after I passed the 45 sign. "Really!" was my first thought.
Thirty minutes earlier, I had been driving down Plato following my friend, Barb, who never even slowed down for the school zone. I did. Like most people driving down Plato and 10th Street, she was an oblivian. Not me; I'm usually very conscience of my driving in neighborhoods. Driving 40 in a 30 was not my usual, but just a slip of the gas pedal. How many times have I bitten my tongue rather than tell Toby to slow down when driving into town. He flies past the signs that go from 70 to 65 to 55, and finally at the 45 sign he punches the cruise off and begins to slow down. He never gets pulled over. But I do. Why is that?
The police officer did not give me a ticket, but a warning for going "about 40 in a 30" - telling me I needed to slow it down. I was a good girl and behaved properly and thanked the officer. Technically I was speeding. But, but...it was the injustice of the situation. I guess that is what they all say.