I've never been pulled over before. Until tonight.
I've gotten tickets, but only because of those stupid ridiculous precious cameras posted along the highways in South Africa. And they've all been delivered by the unreliable postal service. I've never gotten a ticket in America. And never directly from a cop. Thankfully I can still say that. Even after tonight. Phew.
Thirty minutes before, I debated about whether or not I should hit the bathroom one more time. I'd been chugging water all night and had made frequent trips to the restroom. I kinda had to pee but figured I could easily handle the 20-minute drive home.
But as soon as I got into my freezing car, my bladder shrunk. Oh well, what's a girl to do? I just blared some tunes and hit the road. (Sidebar: In response to my recent post, a friend mailed me her iPod car adapter to borrow! Am I blessed or what?!)
Not five minutes away from my house, a cop car pulled out behind me. And when the red-and-blues started flashing in my rearview mirror, I groaned out loud. I was on this troublesome road that deceives you me with its four lanes. The speed limit is only 25; I was going closer to 35 40.
My heart was racing as I pulled to the side of the road. My only experiences with this sort of thing come from watching COPS. And we all know those encounters never end well.
I was in a borrowed car. With an out-of-state license. And I'm a resident of another country. The story was clearly way too complicated to explain to a policeman on the side of the road on a freezing night when my bladder was about to burst.
After way too long of an exchange, the cop decided just to give me a written warning. "After all," he said, "You need a souvenir from Ohio."
I smiled and squeezed my legs even tighter together. I wanted to tell him that my currently-developing urinary tract infection was more than enough of a souvenir. But I refrained.
All that to say: It's true what your mom used to tell you. You should always pee one last time.
