Monday, February 14, 2005

Why blondes don't get tickets

I love my car. I love to drive fast and I refuse to drive an automatic, because I like the feeling of control in a standard and the way you can really get it moving. Driving an automatic just fucks me all up and leaves me feeling useless and bored.

So the main road was freshly paved, after months and months of raised manhole covers and grooved pavement. I was psyched! So were the cops. You know the story, small town, no crime; so they are bitterly rabid about speeding. I mean, they get you if you are 4 miles per hour over. Sigh.

So, it was freshly paved, and I was fucking goddamn late. As usual. But I wasn't worried, because I was driving a fast little car (my old Jetta, sweet little burgundy piece of German engineering, complete with sick stereo and sunroof) and, well, I'm blonde. Yes, blonde. Why would that keep me from worry? Allow me to illustrate.

Ok, so freshly paved, me in my little car, late. I pull out of my road onto this slick sweet blacktop, smiling broad, disco on, and whip the car into a frenzy, got it up to 55 in the space of 15 yards. Yeeehaw! Shit. That. Was. A. Fuckin'. Cop. Yep, on the side street, sweet as can be, he saw the whole thing. Crap. I knew he was coming for me so I slowed only just a bit, real casual, I'm not doing anything wrong...

Blue lights... and over I go. Nicely dressed, hands on the dashboard, sunny smile, turn the music off. Roll the window down, get all ready, compliant and sweet...
I look in the rearview mirror... Oh, Joy! This is gonna be TOO easy!! Young rookie, chubby, not in the least attractive. Poor guy, doesn't even know what's coming.

So he steps up to the car, and mumbles his opening lines. Asks me if I know why I have been pulled over, so I dimple at him and say, "no, officer." Hee hee!
He said, "You were speeding; I clocked you going 55 and this is a 35 mph zone."
My eyes widened (as if in) surprise and I said...

I actually said, groaning inside (you idiot, he's never gonna fall for that shit!)

"Gasp!" whipping my head towards my speedometer, "I didn't know this little old car could get up that fast!"

so, feeling a sense of doom (you've pushed it too far, you really are a dumb blonde, you idiot...) I felt elation when he actually leaned casually on the door of my car and said,
"Heh heh, yeah, I know, it's so easy to get going on the fresh blacktop, you just gotta take it easy. Where you going in such a hurry?"
(oh my god I can't believe it the gods are smiling on me today)
So I dimple at him again,
"Oh, I'm late for class, I am never late I don't know what my problem is!"
So he asks for license and reg, the usual, and of course I don't have my license so sweet as pie I say,
"Oh, it's in my backpack which is back there" (pointing to the backseat) "I could get out and get it for you if you like?"
So he said to me,
"No, no that's alright, I take it you live right down there? Listen, though, I am patrolling this neighborhood, lots of speeding cuz of the new pavement, just take it easy huh? You have a good day."

Ahhhh, a triumph for the blonde.
Some people will say it's evil, and perpetuates the myth of feminine wiles and manipulation. I say, if they're dumb enough to fall for it and think that I'm a dumb blonde, they deserve it. Hah.

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