I walked into the house and announced “I have to kill myself!” Of course, R (my shorthand for my spouse Ralph), immediately assured me that for whatever reason I felt that way, it was not the answer. “Yes, I have to kill myself because I got a speeding ticket!” “No, no, my love,” says he, “It is only a speeding ticket.” “No, no,” says I, “It is a BIG speeding ticket.” He gazed into my eyes with that don’t worry about it look and asked quietly, “How big?”
Before I answered that I had to inform him of the unfortunate circumstances of this ticket. I was so upset because I had just traversed through the small town of Milton, Delaware meticulously obeying those frustrating 25 m.p.h. to 35 m.p.h. to 25 m.p.h. to 20 m.p.h. to 35 m.p.h. zones that are, I am convinced, deliberately set up to trap the unsuspecting traveler and to stock the larders of the town ticket heaven. Make that hell. It is the same situation as found in Waldo, FL which is notorious for its evil speed zones and lurking radar traps. So much so that it is published as the equivalent to a “Watch Out for Satan Zone” in the AAA literature.
So, after tip-toeing through the speed zone tulips of the small town of Milton, I left the town behind and looked to the side of the road to find the posted speed. What I saw was a sign that said “20 m.p.h. when yellow lights flashing.” No yellow lights flashing, no school on Saturday, okay, I can now accelerate to the 50 m.p.h. standard for all roads in Sussex County.
I will admit that I almost always push that envelop by 7 m.p.h. as local lore has it that no one will stop you for going that much over the speed limit. But, I am not a scofflaw or even one who does not regularly obey the speed limit. In fact, when R is driving I regularly advise him of the speed limit if it changes so that he won’t be pulled over and get a ticket.
So, here I was cruising along comfortably anticipating getting home after a day-long seminar. And, as the good and conscientious driver that I am, I gazed into my rear view mirror and lo and behold (that’s a religious term I believe), there were those dreaded flashing red, white, and blue lights (like they think that if the lights are patriotic colors it will make me feel better).
Well, Officer Blazer asked for my driving credentials and then asked me how fast I was driving. I told him the truth – 57 m.p.h. He then asked me if I knew why he pulled me over. I said “No, I have no idea.” He said, “You were speeding.” I naively thought he meant in this 50 m.p.h. zone – NOT, he continued, “In a 35 m.p.h. zone.” I asked, “Where?” I then told him how careful I had been through town and had no clue where I was speeding.
Well, he carefully explained where this infraction occurred and I am sure he was right because they always are. He took my credentials and told me to wait while he checked to see if I was also some maniac criminal, drug dealer, or traffic violation abuser. I waited, and waited, and waited.
He finally came back and handed me a ticket and told me “Drive safe.” I had some well chosen four letter words swimming around in my head that I wanted to attach to him, but didn’t say them out loud. I’m not stupid. Then I went home and told R that “I have to kill myself.” The ticket was for $176.50 and would put 5 points on my license. I am now paying penance (in addition to the obscene fine of which only $86 is actual fine) by taking a defensive driving course to wipe out 3 of those points and hopefully keep my insurance from skyrocketing. As I said, “I have to kill myself.” Okay, not really, but I do feel dreadful. Sigh.