Thursday, March 19, 2009
Home from the Cold - Almost Locked Up in Barbados Pt.2
Almost Locked Up in Barbados Pt. 2
I brought the car to a stop wondering where in the world that motorcycle cop had materialized from. I had not seen him when I approached the traffic lights and my only conclusion was that he was lying in wait, hiding behind a six foot wall that extended from the nearby Texaco gas station.
My goose was cooked, I had to tell myself and quickly tried to think of what pitiful excuse I was going to give to the officer for my obvious indiscretion. In my side-view mirrror I watched him dismount his motorcycle and walk towards my car. He was young and there was a confident swagger to his gait. This was not going to be good, I thought. My goose could be overdone by the time he was finished with me.
He was by the side of the car now and his first question seemed rhetorical. "Yes, sir, do you know what a red light is for?
The pitiful excuse that came immediately to mind was, "But officer, I thought the light was amber when I turned left." I quickly realized that most likely this would have sounded as ridiculous to him as it sounded to me, so I thought the better of it and remained silent.
He must have seen the look of guilt on my face and started to lecture:
" You had all the time in the world to stop since you weren't going that fast (I was glad that he had noted that and hoped it would count for something) and there was nothing behind you to run into you if you had stopped suddenly." He looked at me as if expecting a defence.
I couldn't think of a good one. Every excuse that came to mind sounded lame:
"Officer, I just came back from Canada and am still suffering from jet lag.
"Officer, all I had to eat this morning was bread and water and wasn't thinking straight.
"Officer, I swear that red light was green when I first saw it."
A voice inside me continued to advise, "The less you say, the less stupid you will sound."
So dumbfounded with guilt, I listened as he ended his little lecture by stating that he was going to report me. He took out a little notebook from his back pocket and started tapping his other pockets for, I assumed, something to write with. He had a lot of pockets and it took him a few moments to find what he was looking for. I tried to ingratiate myself to him by offering the pen sitting in the key tray under the car radio but he declined. He had his own, he said. I wanted to ask him if he had gotten if from Woolworth's or Cave Shepherd but thought the better of it.
Pt. 3 tomorrow....