Sunday morning while the sun was rising, I was driving into town from life in the sticks to look after Kel’s ferrets while she’s off at a friends wedding in Boston. Sans a shower and plus baseball hat, it was more or less the same drive I take every morning with one small difference: I’d been to No Mas in Castleberry Hill the day before, and driving by their sister storefront on Huff Road I was suddenly putting the pieces together and fixating on their signage that included the word “Clearance”. Ooooh. A sale! Since the day before I’d noted that the price tag on the cute lanterns was a whopping $117, I was naturally intrigued. I’ll have a new house to fancy up soon…can’t hurt to start thinking about these things.

The shop is on the opposite side of a 4-way stop intersection, and in my infinite early morning half-a-cup-of-coffee-no one-on-the-road blur, I apparently rolled through the stop sign.

BWOOP and blue lights in my rear view mirror.

Okay. I deserved that. I’m *cough* 29 *cough* and I’ve never had a ticket. Okay. It’s time. I pull over instantaneously, hugging the curb on the quiet (at this hour) road.

Before the officer has made his way to my window I have my license and insurance card out.

“Did you see me?” he says, in a voice that reeks of a disappointment that to this point in my life, I’ve only associated with my father. The kind of look that says “you can do better” and makes you want to cry and throw yourself at their feet.
“No officer.”
“Did you see the stop sign?”
“Yes officer.” My sunglasses are still on, I take them off.
“I could swear you looked right at me.”
“No officer” (it’s not until later I realize he must have been next to No Mas, and the signage I was visually fondling)
He says something else I don’t remember and I say “I drive this way every morning and every night, I know to stop there. At 8am on a Sunday I guess I’m an idiot.”
He looks at what I’ve handed him, takes a step towards his car and comes back to my window.
“I’m here every morning. I’m not going to ticket you this morning, but you can bet I’ll catch you if you roll through that sign again, and I will give you a ticket.”
He hands me back my license and insurance.
“Thank you officer.”
He walks away and I catch myself with my bottom lip stuck out, disappointed in myself.

A few key things here before I get to my point:
- My maternal grandfather was a police officer, and two of my cousins on that side are successful, noble men in the same profession.
- I considered (and still consider, really) being an officer.
- I have never feared police behind me in traffic or anywhere else. If I’m doing something wrong, I deserve to be busted. I work very hard not to do anything wrong…with the exception of speeding a bit.

Back to the story. The Mc had been pulled over at the very same intersection - and probably by the same officer - early in our relationship after we’d had a tiff and he was heading home with boiling blood and a racing mind. I called him immediately to recount the story and let him laugh at my expense. All the more reason I should know better, especially there, at that intersection.

On the phone, The Mc says “I bet he took one look at your name and decided not to give you a ticket. He knows the police force in this country was built on the backs of the Irish.”

I think he’s high, but part of me really loved that the sentiment occurred to him, or that it would occur to anyone. I think of my grandfather, my cousins, their mother, my mother.

I’m only a little curious about what really prompted the kindness and generosity of that officer, more importantly, I’ll be paying it forward.

******************

On a very loosely related note, I clocked my existing and new commute times this morning.

6:22 - Left suburbia
6:46 - Passed the new temporary dwelling
6:54 - Arrived at the office

From 32 minutes to 8, and that teeny 8 minutes includes three red lights. Yeah. That’s my kind of commute.

*****************

Last thing with regards to wheels for today, I promise. At one of the three red lights mentioned above, there was one of those people on a supped up golf cart with the vacuum attached. They drive around all day sucking the ugly off the streets and out of the gutters of downtown Atlanta.

I totally want to drive one of those things. I would do that job one day a week and you wouldn’t even have to pay me.