It was a lovely crisp Saturday morning. I was heading north out of New York to visit Garry in Boston. I don’t remember which car I was driving. Probably my turquoise VW Rabbit, my personal pocket rocket.
I am not a slow driver, though I try to be a careful one. If I see a wide open road and I figure I’m not going to get a ticket, I’ve been know to put pedal to the metal. Perhaps a tad faster than the legal limit. Which is why I was surprised, as I drove along in the left lane of the limited access highway, to be passed on the right and cut off — leaving just millimeters spare — by a vehicle going so fast he nearly sucked the doors off my car.
I was a bit shaken, especially since he had no reason to cut me off at all. The road was empty. He had plenty of room, so he was just being an asshole. I hadn’t even seen him coming.
“Go tiger,” I murmured, looking down at my speedometer. I was going a smidge over 80 MPH, so how fast was he going? He passed me as if I were standing still.
“People like him,” I muttered, “Give all of us a bad name.”
I continued on my merry way, made merrier by the music playing on my radio … until I saw flashing lights ahead. I slowed. Then I slowed more, until I was crawling along.
Blue lights were flashing everywhere. This was no normal speeding ticket stop. It was not one or two police cars. There must have been a hundred or more squad cars, motorcycles, and a couple of vans.
It was a genuine cop convention!
My favorite speeder and all around dangerous driver had plunged right into a convoy of law enforcement officers on their way to an event.
The fellow, a young man of unimpressive demeanor, was standing on the shoulder of the road, hands in the air looking terrified. Officers stood near him, several of whom had telephones to their ears. They had bagged a good one and were clearly having fun as only a convention of cops driving official vehicles can.
I was happy. Justice, so rarely served, was coming to one who deserved it. In such a memorable way, I doubted he would ever speed again. I couldn’t see whether or not he had (yet) wet his pants, but I could hope. I gave a thumbs up to the cops standing around the road writing out tickets — I wonder how many they gave him? To me, they gave a collective thumbs up.
I was laughing the entire remainder of the trip to Boston.