My lead foot |
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Yesterday was not one of my better days. On my way to meet a friend for lunch, I didn't even get two blocks from home when a waiting police officer clocked me at 15 mph over the posted limit. I stepped on the brake as soon as I saw him, but it was too late.
"Do you know why I pulled you over, m'am?" "Not because you wanted to ask me how I liked my new Ford Escape, I suppose." He didn't even crack a smile. "Do you know what the speed limit is here?" "Forty," I replied meekly. "How long have you lived at the address on your driver's license?" "32 years. They broke ground the day my younger son was born."
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"And you don't know the speed limit here is 35 mph?" "I'm sorry officer, I guess I forgot." "Do you know how fast you were going?" "No sir, I was concentrating on watching the road."
Being contrite and polite did not help me, and I refused to cry or play the Parkinson's card. The officer explained he had to give me a ticket because I was going too far over the limit for him to issue a warning. I tried not to look too pleased with myself, but after living with PD for 15 years, it's nice to know there is something I can still do quickly. If nothing else, I still have my lead foot.
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