It was in a part of town that I don’t frequent. An area where the speed limit goes from 35 to 25. With no warning, I might solemnly add. So if one is traveling at, say, 41 miles per hour, and enters the 25 zone, well, that’s sixteen miles per hour over the limit. It was enough, in my case, on that day, to get noticed by The Law.
Blue lights flashing.
“That’s not ME he’s stopping, is it?”
“Yes, it is.”
A groan involuntarily escaped my lips.
“I need to see your license and registration, please, sir.” This particular city cop was big and strong-looking. You know, one of those whose arm and chest muscles strain the seams and buttons of his uniform shirt. And he was stern; all business.
Sheesh, I thought. I’m not likely to talk my way out of this one. Not that I’ve ever been able to “talk my way” out of such a thing before.
As he looked over my papers, he explained my infraction, the why of stopping me. I meekly offered up the excuse of being unfamiliar with that part of town. It sounded to me like a reasonable explanation for my speeding through there, and from such a standpoint, the jump could surely be made that I was innocent of any wrongdoing.
Not so surprisingly, such whimpering elicited absolutely no comment from Officer Professional; he had obviously heard such blather before.
As the hulking Black policeman further scrutinized my driver’s license, I happily added, “Yep, it’s my birthday. Wouldn’t you know it!” I laughed for emphasis, but again this brought no comment, not even a subtle lightening of countenance from this officer of the law. His stern face remained unperturbed as he handed back my documents and instructed me to wait and remain in my vehicle. He returned to his cruiser with those flashing blue lights to write me up. I slunk down in my seat a bit. I mean, it’s an embarrassing position, you know?
After what seemed like way too long, there was once again his commanding presence. His hat perched six and a half feet off the ground.
He handed me a form filled out in meticulous handwriting, and he calmly spoke in a polite, even tone: “Mr. Robinson, I’m going to give you a warning this time. Please drive carefully and have a nice day.” My brilliant reply was, “Thank you, officer. Yes, I’ll be careful and not ever speed through here again!”
As he turned to walk back to his cruiser, I heard what I swore was a light-hearted chuckle, and in that unmistakable deep voice he said:
“It’s my birthday, too.”
