Between Albuquerque, New Mexico, and Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, there is a long stretch of road. Seriously, nothing but a long...stretch...of road.... Or at least that’s what it felt like. We were (at my insistence) driving the perfect speed limit. I was afraid we’d get pulled over (we did like four or five times a decade ago) and cops make me INSANELY nervous. INSANELY NERVOUS. Understatement there. Here we are, truckin’ along in our California plates, excitedly telling Tisha and/or Jason where we were every few minutes. Facebook was my place to post excitedly as we headed between state lines..
TEXAS!!!!!
It’s not as exciting as I made it sound. It was just me crossing lines, excited that I was one state closer to our next destination.
As serious as I was about going the speed limit, it turns out I didn’t notice we were going slightly over the speed limit when a cop passed us in the opposite direction. Of course, he turned around. I may have mentioned that cops make me nervous, so at this point I’m doing the sweaty-shake thing, probably mostly staring straight ahead.
He follows behind us for a second, then merges into the other lane. There, we’re watching him hover in our blind spot, when we pass another cop pulled over on the right side of the road. Directly after, he drops behind us again and this time pulls us over.
The cop walks up to the window real slow, as if he’s terrified we’re going to pull guns out and shoot him - it’s a rational fear, what with those California plates and all. So he leans over and says “I pulled you over for two reasons.”
Two?!
“Number one,” I’m about having a heart attack at this time. I can feel my heart beating painfully in my chest and I’m just trying to remember to breath so I don’t pass out. Yes, that bad, “You were going, oh, about six miles over the speed limit.” Okay, I can handle that, because it’s seventy out here, and that’s not *too* bad, right? “Number two; around here we move to the other lane for a service vehicle.”
“Oh?! Oh! Sorry! That’s good to know! Oh wow...” There’s a string of words that I’m not sure are mine or Jeff’s - he’s completely calm this entire time.
“This your car?” He’s looking at Jeff. I might say something about it being mine - I don’t remember. But Jeff motions to me and tells him it’s mine, so it doesn’t matter. “Can I have your license?” When I hand it to him, I’m visibly trembling, and he says “You alright, ma’am?”
“You make me nervous.”
“You sure you’re alright?” He sends Jeff to his car. We’re pulled over, and it’s hot, and I’m sweating, and I’m having a complete and total panic about this. “Are you a hostage being held against your will?” What?! At this point, I’m like...Woah. I must look like I’m really tripping. I suck in a breath, pull off my sunglasses, look him dead in the eye, and respond with;
“Look, I’m fine. I’m just nervous around cops and he, “ Motion to Jeff, “was making fun of me for it not ten miles ago.” He was, too. “Cops make me nervous, that’s all.”
“Where you going?”
“Oklahomacitytovisitafriendandbusinessand...”
“Ma’am, you need to calm down... I’m just giving your friend a warning. You said business -what business?”
“...andtheshopanatometalandifriendsbusiness...:”
“...You calm down. I’m going to go talk to your friend.”
Around this point, another cop comes by and signals, then pulls behind the first. This is a recipe for an aneurysm at this point, for no reason other than that I have myself worked up. I’m panicking, wondering what to do, when I look back and see it’s only one cop again, and he and Jeff are laughing!
Suddenly, my nervous gives way to bitterness at their air conditioning and the fact that I’m on the side of the road with my window down in Texas mid-day heat. It takes about ten minutes before the cop comes back, “You calm yet?” He asks me.
“I’mmuchbetternowthankyou..” I squeak out with all of the confidence I can muster. He takes my cigarette pack and smells it, then eyes me and explains that menthol's smell like marijuana. This is not the first time I’ve heard this. “Uhhuh....”
“Ma’am, really. I know I might look scary, but I’m not mean.” He was the nicest cop intheworld. He’d kept Jeff back there for so long because there’s evidently a Jeffery S. Ferguson *wanted* in Texas.
Yeah. Then we were on the road. It’d be awhile before I calmed down.
TEXAS!!!!!
It’s not as exciting as I made it sound. It was just me crossing lines, excited that I was one state closer to our next destination.
As serious as I was about going the speed limit, it turns out I didn’t notice we were going slightly over the speed limit when a cop passed us in the opposite direction. Of course, he turned around. I may have mentioned that cops make me nervous, so at this point I’m doing the sweaty-shake thing, probably mostly staring straight ahead.
He follows behind us for a second, then merges into the other lane. There, we’re watching him hover in our blind spot, when we pass another cop pulled over on the right side of the road. Directly after, he drops behind us again and this time pulls us over.
The cop walks up to the window real slow, as if he’s terrified we’re going to pull guns out and shoot him - it’s a rational fear, what with those California plates and all. So he leans over and says “I pulled you over for two reasons.”
Two?!
“Number one,” I’m about having a heart attack at this time. I can feel my heart beating painfully in my chest and I’m just trying to remember to breath so I don’t pass out. Yes, that bad, “You were going, oh, about six miles over the speed limit.” Okay, I can handle that, because it’s seventy out here, and that’s not *too* bad, right? “Number two; around here we move to the other lane for a service vehicle.”
“Oh?! Oh! Sorry! That’s good to know! Oh wow...” There’s a string of words that I’m not sure are mine or Jeff’s - he’s completely calm this entire time.
“This your car?” He’s looking at Jeff. I might say something about it being mine - I don’t remember. But Jeff motions to me and tells him it’s mine, so it doesn’t matter. “Can I have your license?” When I hand it to him, I’m visibly trembling, and he says “You alright, ma’am?”
“You make me nervous.”
“You sure you’re alright?” He sends Jeff to his car. We’re pulled over, and it’s hot, and I’m sweating, and I’m having a complete and total panic about this. “Are you a hostage being held against your will?” What?! At this point, I’m like...Woah. I must look like I’m really tripping. I suck in a breath, pull off my sunglasses, look him dead in the eye, and respond with;
“Look, I’m fine. I’m just nervous around cops and he, “ Motion to Jeff, “was making fun of me for it not ten miles ago.” He was, too. “Cops make me nervous, that’s all.”
“Where you going?”
“Oklahomacitytovisitafriendandbusinessand...”
“Ma’am, you need to calm down... I’m just giving your friend a warning. You said business -what business?”
“...andtheshopanatometalandifriendsbusiness...:”
“...You calm down. I’m going to go talk to your friend.”
Around this point, another cop comes by and signals, then pulls behind the first. This is a recipe for an aneurysm at this point, for no reason other than that I have myself worked up. I’m panicking, wondering what to do, when I look back and see it’s only one cop again, and he and Jeff are laughing!
Suddenly, my nervous gives way to bitterness at their air conditioning and the fact that I’m on the side of the road with my window down in Texas mid-day heat. It takes about ten minutes before the cop comes back, “You calm yet?” He asks me.
“I’mmuchbetternowthankyou..” I squeak out with all of the confidence I can muster. He takes my cigarette pack and smells it, then eyes me and explains that menthol's smell like marijuana. This is not the first time I’ve heard this. “Uhhuh....”
“Ma’am, really. I know I might look scary, but I’m not mean.” He was the nicest cop intheworld. He’d kept Jeff back there for so long because there’s evidently a Jeffery S. Ferguson *wanted* in Texas.
Yeah. Then we were on the road. It’d be awhile before I calmed down.
