Recently, I was on my way for a last hurrah junk food binge before I dedicated myself to paleo, when I heard the unmistakable ‘Bloop…whooo….bloop’ (it probably doesn’t sound like that at all), but it was the police. At first I figured they couldn’t possibly mean me, because I was an upstanding citizen who’d managed to escape their clutches for minor offences for a long time always done the right thing on the roads. Turns out they were aiming at me and, a bit nervous, I stopped and leaned out to see what they wanted.
“Do you know that your tail-light is out mam?”
“No? It is?” I lied. Who the hell is going to say they knew? In all fairness, I’d meant to have it fixed and kept forgetting. Either way, I lied, to the police. I don’t think hell takes you in for little things like that. Do they? Anyway, they peered in, asked me if the vehicle was mine and other mundane stuff, then they checked my road tax. Eeeekkkk! I’d never actually put the new sticker thing (what do you call those?) on. Okay, breathe Jackie, find the sticker thing so they don’t think it’s a stolen vehicle or something. While searching for that, they wanted my license and insurance as well. To make a long and harrowing story short, I didn’t have anything in the car but older versions of these and luckily, my current license. So, trying not to panic at my lack of documentation I said, “Everything is up to date,” repetitively and a bit more frantically than I’d have wanted to if I was riding the cool bus. But, it was late and they seemed
scary stern and I’ve never been pulled over before. Give me a break.
What I learnt:
1) Being an outlaw is not nearly as cool a profession as it seems in old Westerns.
2) Eating fast food late at night really isn’t a good thing.