I forgive you.
I forgive you for being a jackass.
Sure, “jackass” might be harsh, but how else do you explain a cop that lies in wait on I-80 just beyond the point where the speed limit changes from 70 to 45 before a toll area and pulls over a dog-loving writer on his way to give a free talk at a library?
You broke a law too you know? It was still dark and when you followed me into the toll, you didn’t even have your headlights on.
It was dark, but I could see you. Don’t go thinking that you were “tailing” me or something. I’m sure that day-after-day of picking off motorists who are searching for change to pay the toll and don’t decelerate fast enough gets old. Shooting fish in a barrel is easy, but it’s boring, and, at a certain point soulless. So to combat the boredom you create a little fantasy world in which you’re a hard-nosed detective that dishes out justice instead of a pimple-bottomed car jockey that hands out outrageously expensive speeding tickets.
Why did you have to ask if I knew how fast I was going? How do you expect me to pay attention to something as meaningless as speed when I was listening to a book on tape in which Edgar Sawtelle just had one of his puppies die?
A puppy died! A puppy! Do you hate puppies? Do you have no heart beneath that poofy bulletproof chest of yours?
Did you know that a few miles down the road in Ohio the speed limit is 65 mph and the area before the toll is 55 mph? That seems like a reasonable request: “Please slow down 10 mph while entering the toll area.” But you and your state of Indiana (I might live there but I was born in Ohio) demand that motorists slow down 25 mph. How rude! Sure, you have the 45 mph signs posted with flags flying from them and you have a warning to slow down, but what about the puppies?
I just went to the bank. Don’t worry; a certified check, which cost me $5, is on its way to the Podunk Town of Fremont, Indiana.
I just Googled you. In 2006 you were 5’10” weighed 180 lbs. You played running back for Tri-State University and we’re majoring in Criminal Justice. I’m not a criminal and this doesn’t feel like Justice.
The more I read about you the harder it is to dislike you. Your Facebook profile is a photo of you and your lady at a Purdue football game. You look happy.
You know what? I’m going to friend you on Facebook. Once you get to know me, you’ll feel bad about the ticket, the puppies, the $215, and the library.
I think we’re going to be great friends. I can’t wait to hear stories about all of the jackasses you pull over.