Traffic stop #32

This requires a lot of explanation, I know. How does a normally responsible, well-educated (if student loans are any indication) person get stopped by the police 32 times in 11 years? And why would he count the stops?

I grew up in a small town, Crystal Falls, where the local police had little to do, and they frequently stopped high school students to check for alcohol and such. I know that sounds all too typical, but really, I was pulled over once when I was going 32 in a 35. It was late, and I was driving my beat-up ’79 Impala through town. The city officer on duty nearly rolled his SUV as he turned around to pull me over, and as he walked up and I took my hood off of my head, he realized he knew me. In fact, his two sons attended the school district’s daycare I worked at, and I helped coach them in t-ball. The officer was completely apologetic and made some excuse about how the radar gun sometimes picks up “the fan in the car” and it clocked me at 52 m.p.h.

That’s just one example. I was pulled over seven times in my first six months of driving, and I’ve always kept the running total in the back of my head. Now it’s a running joke with my friends. I think I’ve been ticketed for speeding three times, and I admit that I drive over the speed limit quite a bit — never too fast for conditions, though. I think I’m a good driver, a sensible person.

Tonight, my friend Pete and I went to the Darkside Cinema to see “The Band’s Visit,” a great film about an Egyptian Police band that gets stranded in Israel for a night before a scheduled performance there. It’s a sad film with fantastic lonely characters, and I recommend it. When we left, I drove about two blocks when an officer pulled me over, and Pete snickered about how I can get pulled over even when I’m driving perfectly. Apparently, a headlight went out tonight; it was fine last night. So the officer was brief and nice about it, and she let me leave without a ticket or much fuss at all.

Sometimes I have to talk quickly — I think I’ve maneuvered my way out of several tickets. For example, last Saturday I was stopped by a Benton County sheriff deputy on the motorcycle I had just purchased (more on that some other time). I had no insurance, the bike wasn’t registered yet, and it had an expired Washington license plate on it. I knew I had messed up this time and was bracing myself for a big fine and bike impoundment. I started talking right away about how I just got the bike off the truck and was having carb problems, how I was just a mile from home and heading back that way, how I had just received my temporary motorcycle license (yes, this one’s paper and they mail me a new one in a week). All true, but nevertheless, I wasn’t on the road legally. A minute later, the officer — a guy my age — was talking to me about his old bikes and what I might want to look at with my bike. He let me go and wished me luck. I really thought I was in trouble. I guess this particular officer was in a good mood.

Well, that’s enough about this. It’s all humorous to me and pretty ridiculous because (knock on wood) I’ve avoided some major accidents by being a defensive driver, and my insurance company likes me. Tomorrow I will fix my headlight, but if you see blue and red lights flashing behind a little black car in Corvallis, or on I-5, wave and don’t worry — I’m probably just discussing something minor with a local law enforcement agent, perhaps a taillight, or the OSU parking permit that’s potentially impeding my vision as it hangs from my rearview mirror.

(Note for further discussion: unbelievably high concentrations of police in relatively small academic communities like Corvallis and Marquette. Right? Or is it just me? I may be incapable of objectivity!)