Monday, December 5, 2011

Vehicular Manslaughter Sandwich

I got my first speeding ticket.

Last Thursday afternoon I was driving to Columbus, where I would be spending the evening before departing for Boston the next day. I was excited, because I had saved a lot of money when my friend in Boston set me up with a discounted flight.

I was driving along a two-lane highway on the edge of nowhere. The car behind me was being driven by a man who, quite clearly, had a mental disability of some type. He was rocking back and forth in his seat, he was muttering to himself, he was sporadically pointing. At one point he attempted to spit out his window, only for the stream of saliva to land on his shoulder. I laughed at this, and I swear, somehow he knew I was laughing at him.

This caused more rocking and muttering, which seemed directly related to how close his front bumper was to the back of my car.

When the car in front of me wasn't veering over to the wrong side of the road, it was suddenly braking for no reason. It was being driven by a girl who I'm convinced was twelve years old, and whose face was never removed from the screen of her phone. She was probably texting a boy she liked, maybe arguing about how she wasn't comfortable giving him a blow job until after her braces were removed. I don't know. It's been awhile since I was a twelve-year old driving down the highway.

Deciding that I no longer wanted to be involved in this vehicular manslaughter sandwich, I decided to pass the girl and leave both drivers behind me, hoping that the twelve-year old girl wouldn't swerve into me as I did so.

I successfully passed her vehicle, only having to increase my speed to about seventy miles an hour. Right as I released my foot from the pedal to decelerate to the speed limit, I passed it, the police car.

As I saw him turn around in my rear-view mirror, I pulled onto a side road. There was no reason to pretend like I didn't know I was being pulled over.

I mean, this was at least going to lead to hot cop sex, right?

No. It didn't. The officer wasn't even attractive in a "I've had a few drinks and the uniform is adorable" kind of way.

It's like everything porn told me was a lie.

This was worse than the time I ordered twenty-seven pizzas and didn't get a single sultry, aroused delivery boy. And trust me, by the time I was finished eating all that pizza, nobody wanted to have sex with me.

I tried to explain to the officer about the deranged man driving behind me, the vehicular manslaughter sandwich, that I fully intended to slow down after I passed the twelve-year old girl that was driving in front of me.

"Twelve?" he asked.

"Well, maybe twelve-and-a-half."

He went back to his vehicle and printed my ticket.


At least it didn't cost more than those twenty-seven pizzas.

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