They’ll never take me alive.
Come back in time with me, if you will.
It’s December of 2004. I’m a senior in high school, I’m out past the curfew that my parents never enforce, and I have to pee badly. My boyfriend Ex is driving me home. We aren’t in the best of spirits for this, that, or the other reason. I really do need to pee. Ex is sprawling down my street, despite that fact that it’s snowing, slippery, and past midnight. We’re almost to my house. I’m counting down the houses. Six houses until I can pee…five…four…flashing blue and red lights until I can pee…-shit.
Next thing you know, Ex is rolling down his window to a cop that’s telling us he didn’t stop at the past two stop signs. He was speeding. Want a ticket? Here you go.
“Officer,” I am desperate. “I live just up the street. I have to pee.”
“You’ll stay in the car, young lady.” The officer does not understand the small size of my bladder.
I’ll pee my pants staying in this car, I think to myself as the officer goes to write the ticket and Ex hits the steering wheel in frustration.
Does that sound fun? No. Is it fair? Well, in terms of breaking the law… Oh, and by the way, does it sound familiar?
Let me tell you another story.
It’s December of 2008. I’m waiting for BabyDaddy to arrive to visit me and the Boo, who was still a LeBebe back then. BabyDaddy texts me to tell me he’s almost there.
And wait some more.
My phone rings.
“Calm down,” I tell BabyDaddy. I’m already irritated that he said he’d be there in five minutes and it’s been around twenty.
“I’m pulled over, outside the house,” he tells me, when he finally lays off the profanities.
“Okay…” I’m confused. “Come inside then.” I glance out the window. Sure enough, I can see his car pulled up in front of the house. He’s just sitting inside, talking on the phone to me.
“I can’t. I got pulled over outside the house.” He clarifies.
I open the front door to get a better look. Sure enough, from the window, all I could see was the front end of BabyDaddy’s car. From the door, I can see the Popo flashing his lights, and the cop writing a ticket for BabyDaddy.
We’re quiet for a second.
“You blew those stop signs, didn’t you?” I ask him.
Again, does this sound familiar?
There is an intersection in my neighborhood. One crossroad is a busier street that links two fairly main roads in Grand Rapids. The other is one of the main streets for the neighborhood, connecting all the side streets. It dead ends in one direction, and heads into the neighborhood in the other.
And those Popos. They love to camp out on that dead end street, watch for those who might not want to pull a complete stop…and the rest is on your driving record.
Now, since I live in the neighborhood, by now, I know better. I check the intersection before I dare pull a rolling stop. If I see a Popo, I not only do a complete stop, but I turn off my engine, before starting it up again and proceeding.
Can’t catch me, Mr. Po.
Yesterday, I happened to be by that intersection, and was all set to blow past with a roaring rolling stop, when I saw him. Creeping. Probably the same guy that hit on Poof and her tinted windows. I slowed. I stopped. I stopped more, and I rolled on.
Less than 25 miles per hour, just in case.
As I pulled away, however, another car came to the intersection. Clearly, not a member of the neighborhood, because he didn’t even rolling stop. He just flew around the corner…until…he saw the cop. Oh noes.
He completed his stop. In the middle of the intersection. As the cop flashed his lights. Popo didn’t even bother to move his car. He just climbed out with his handy dandy notebook, walking towards the car, which still hadn’t moved, shaking his head.
By the way, I drove four miles an hour away from this situation to watch it all unfold, laughing my ass off.
What are your thoughts, friends and bloggers? Should the man be allowed to creep to catch unassuming drivers (Like your own Poof, btw)? And if so…
You’ll never take me alive, Mr. Popo.