Sorry I Can't Write, I'm A Criminal Now

Maybe it was my sub-par bowling performance that night, maybe it was the two beers, maybe it was the general stress and tension I�ve been under lately. I�ve had to work even more at the office the past few weeks. Maybe it was the fact that the guy in the red car in front of me was driving like a complete AssHole. Maybe it�s that 95% of Jersey drivers are dicks. I don�t know. Whatever it was, I wish I hadn�t let it get to me, and I wish I hadn�t reacted the way I did.

The aforementioned AssHole was a typical Jersey driver, 10pm on a Tuesday night, proudly driving under the speed limit in the left lane, cruising alongside another vehicle so that no one could pass them. Others had been trying for miles before they exited the highway, but not me. I was destined to follow him all the way home, god�s little test of my annoyance factor with Her fellow creations.

�Jesus Christ!� I shouted as I watched the AssHole turn on his dome light and proceed to read �War and Peace� as the light changed from red to green. I shouted at the windshield in front of me, but I didn�t give him the usual treatment and beep the steady �WOOOOOONNNNKKK!!� and flip him off. No, I didn�t. I waited for AssHole to regain consciousness and remember that he was supposed to be driving, not sitting and enjoying a good book and a cup of tea. When he did finally notice the green light, he didn�t flinch or flicker. He began to roll his car forward with all the gusto of a lazy, sunbathing cat flicking away a fly with its tail.

I approached his car from behind, growing increasingly annoyed at our 40 mph progression in a 55 mph zone, on a rarely deserted highway in NJ where most feel comfortable at 75. By some miracle of god, he noticed my headlights, and opted not to subtly pull into the right lane, not to speed up to the appropriate speed, but rather to punish me for following too closely and slam on his breaks, and slow us both down to 30 mph. Nice. When we got back up to 50 and he appeared content to remain there, I flicked my lights to again get his attention away from whatever it was in his lap that glowed in his dome light and held him in such awe. He slammed on the breaks again. My anger growing, I honked the horn. Because my car only weighs 10 and � pounds, the clever blokes at the Honda factory decided to put a surprisingly intimating horn under the hood to compensate, and I�m not afraid to unleash it�s fury at times like this. I layed on the horn for nearly a minute as our lane slowly merged with that on our right, and I saw AssHole�s last chance to be a decent human being and move out of my way fade into the past.

As we got down the winding hill into my town, there was a clearing ahead. It�s 10pm, there�s hardly another car on the road. There�s a passing lane ahead, I�m not quite there yet, but what the hell, right? There were no other cars to worry about, and if there were I would have seen their headlights. So, I passed him � and a parked cop at the same exact time.

As I stopped and waited for the cop to approach my window, I heard AssHole stop and explain to the cop how he was innocently driving himself home after a hard day�s work and this young guy was being so mean to him and honking his horn and flashing his brights at him� �Oh Jesus,� I moaned again, not realizing that I was again spitting in god�s face and only making it worse for myself.

�Goooooood Morning!� The cop said, his tone slightly out of place, jovial, yet mocking. I had heard the tone from many bosses before, and I knew I was just a mouse about be pounced on by a vicious alley cat. He wasn�t going to kill me, but he was going to have fun letting me know just how much bigger he was than me. I looked at the clock glowing 10:03pm, and I responded dryly, �Good EVENING.� What hope was there at this point, I could tell by his tone I didn�t have a prayer of surviving this unscathed.

�How much have to you had to drink this EVENING,� he asked. And so it began. I watched him closely to make sure he didn�t drop a bag of white powder in the car and try and bring me in for drug possession. One passed field sobriety test, a dozen passed vehicle safety inspection tests, one non-attempt at explaining myself, and thirty-five minutes later, he put on his cap and adjusted it just so in his rear view mirror like a tight little beret and sauntered back to my window. He let me know just how much bigger that uniform made him than me. My first ticket in over 10 years. Then my second. Then my third and fourth. Then my fifth. When I quite politely told him that the reason for the fifth ticket was bullshit, he said, �you can fight it court.�

My heart pounded as I drove the mile from the scene of the crime to my house, and when I parked the car, I started to sob. I walked in the door and put on a brave face for SP, but it didn�t last very long. �The first time I�ve been pulled over in 10 years and I�m going to lose my license,� I bawled at him, choking over my own melodramatic sobs, pissed at myself for not being able to handle the situation better. At one point I paused from the scenarios of prison yards and hitchhiking to work, and I lifted my head from my hands and heard the sounds of keys clicking rapidly from the next room. SP was on the case, tapping out an email to a Johnny Cochran. �You�re not losing your license,� he said, �that fucker�s losing his job!!� Well, that�s not what he said, but it was what my imaginary voice of hope whispered in my ear. �We�ll make him pay for his evil, pig-stinking crimes, the bastard!! He probably molests children and beats minorities for fun, when he�s not trying to ruin your life.� It�s great what the mind will convince you of when your despair turns to anger and you desperately need to feel justified in revenge.

The truth is, I did something wrong. I�m willing to pay the penalties for that, but not for the other four mythological bullshit charges he concocted to punish me. The bastard! I never had anything against them before, and I even held back my giggles when I saw SP come home with a happy police car pi�ata just a few days before this all happened, but now, every cop is a bastard. Every cop is out to get me, and every cop is corrupt and deserves to be punished horribly for abusing his or her power. They deserve to be burned at the stake. They deserve to be sterile. The cop who did that to me deserves to be miserable.

Justice is blind, and I hope he will be one day, too.

Just kidding.

Kinda.