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Nobody's Baby No MoreI live life in the fast lane.... literally!Like the carnival barker says, "...you pays yer money, and you takes yer chances". I had been playing the odds successfully for some time, but eventually, the piper demands to be paid. And, like so many other criminals, it was no big event that tripped me up, but rather, a little thing. I wasn't driving 95 mph on the interstate in the rain (though I have in the past). Neither was I driving 50 mph in a residential neighborhood during school hours (which I've never done), but I was driving 36 mph in what I would personally designate as an "up and coming business district", but which the Olympia, Washington city fathers deign as an historical district...one containing a four-lane arterial that is clearly posted with a maximum speed of 25 mph. Seeing a car that looked like one owned by a friend, I was futilely attempting to catch her to honk "hello". That was stupid. Stupid times two when you realize that the local police consider this particular stretch of four-lane arterial a "gravy train". It is clearly posted, and perhaps due to width of the roadway, a traffic cop can reach his quota fairly quickly on this stretch, and I knew it. To add insult to injury, for the first time in my speed-riddled life, the officer did not "reduce" the violation. At age 43 (and a bit), I would be less than honest if I claimed to be a speed ticket virgin. Actually, my driving history is a bit, shall we say, jaded? (Indeed, for a quick glimpse of my sordid past, check out my Gas On.... Brain Off!) There was a time in my life when I was still a hot babe, recently divorced and in possession of a rather racy black-turbo-fuel-injected-sport-wheeled-high-performance-four-speed-personalized-plates-that-said-IMZOOMN-but-should-have-read-IMSTUPID-to-the-entire-world that enabled my acquisition of close to a half dozen speeding tickets over the course of 18 months. The corresponding insurance bill was beginning to rival the national debt before my forebrain took charge and kicked the hind-brain in its hiney! I traded the black car in for a blue van, took my foot out of the fuel injected carburetor and even remarried (the same guy...looong story!). I was somewhat fortunate that each violation had been reduced a bit from the actual speed, 36 in a 25 reduced to ten over; 85 in a 70 reduced to ten over; 71 in a 55 reduced to ten over. At eleven miles over the limit, the fine begins to increase and ticket reduction by officers was a "perk" I had sort of come to expect. With my record, I certainly did not deserve any consideration, but I had gone a long ten years with no violations.... but now this time, no reduction. I took a long look in the mirror that night, and I realized that the officer might have just been one of those guys who always follow the rules. Perhaps I should count my blessings that I had in my possession a current license, signed and current registration, good tires, was wearing my seat belt and didn't have my box of tissue obscuring the windshield. All of those things could have racked up a much larger ticket than the one that I earned. But I couldn't help but thinking as I looked in the mirror... I ain't nobody's babe anymore. The only consolation, was the notice on the back of the ticket, it seems that I was eligible for "traffic school".
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