Church may save you, but not from a ticket.

Oh Cops…. I know we need you, but man you know how to ruin a girl’s day.

This past weekend, a Highland Park policeman blessed me with an over $300 ticket. (You’ll understand why I chose the word “blessed.”)

Stopping at the sign at Knox and Abbot, I see the blue and white SUV in front of me. No big deal. I exaggerate my stop, two hands on the wheel and go. What? The familiar noise of sirens, flashing lights and a U-turn; he’s behind me. What did I do? Speeding? No, that can’t be it.

Walking up to my window, the policeman says, “Do you know why I stopped you?”

I answer with, “No, I don’t.”

“Did you know your registration and inspection stickers were expired?”

Honestly, this is the dumbest question. If I say yes, then why haven’t I done something about it? If I say, no, which I did, you’re still going to ticket me anyway.

“Oh that’s what those are. No, I didn’t. But, now I do. Thank you for letting me know; I’ll get that taken care of right away,” I say in the most sincere voice I can muster.

He’s not amused, “Can I have your id?”

Can you? I think in my head.  Should I correct him? I opted for not and handed over my driver’s license.

‘Where do you live?”

“Dallas.”

“Is this the correct address on your id?”

“I hope so or I’m going back to the DMV.” No laugh. No smirk, Man, tough crowd.  

“Do you work?”

“Yes. I do.”

"What do you do?"

“I work for the Katy Trail.”

"The what?"

I point. We are parallel to the trail. “See that concrete path over there with all the people running and biking. I work for the non—profit behind it.” (Glad, I threw in non-profit. Also, known as poor. Poor equaling can’t afford that ticket you are about to write me.)

He looks perplexed. “I don’t understand. What do you do for the Trail? Is this a full-time job?”

Now I’m annoyed. Yes, it’s a FULL-TIME job.  “I raise funds for the Katy Trail and work with the city of Dallas to expand our trail systems.  I’m also a Capricorn," I say.

“Excuse me?

“I figured, I would give you my astrological sign, so you wouldn’t have to ask another question."

“I’ll be right back."

Damnit….You know that line that you shouldn’t cross. I didn’t just cross it; I destroyed it - the line is unrecognizable.

As the cop returned to his vehicle; I thought back on my previous experience with these men in uniform. I always had a good relationship with cops, meaning I had NO relationship. Well that is until my years at SMU.

I encountered my first breath with the law during my freshman year of college at the Fiji House.  From what I recall, we were enjoying a lovely evening of dancing, trashcan punch and whatever other shenanigans naïve freshman get into.

Suddenly, in the midst of me breaking down into my signature dance move (basically a whole lot of spinning, one arm in the air, and hair twirling) a sophomore Fiji shouts, “Cops! Everyone get in the room and lock your door.”

Whoever came up with the law that cops can’t open locked doors unless doable cause is a genius. Unfortunately, genius is not the same word I would describe my 18-year-old self. Why? Who got locked out of the rooms with these two cops? I’ll give you one guess, but I’m sure you won’t need it.

Crap…my first month in college and I’m going to jail. This will be a fun phone call home or to my brother, Todd, in Houston. I get a phone call…right?

Down the hall, two policemen headed towards me. Do I run? Jump out of a window? Cry? I can cry! Crying always works…think of something sad. What’s sad? Bambi, that’s sad.

“Excuse me miss, please come here."

Crap. I thought to myself, act sober. “Me?” I ask innocently.  

“Yes, you’re the only miss here.”

I hear the whisperings on the other side of the door. “Shit, Ash is out there.”(Yeah, I KNOW I’m out here, thanks “friends.”)

Eyeing me up and down, he says, “Mam, you don’t look 21. Have you been drinking?”

Do I lie? Have I ever had alcohol? Today? In the last hour? Um does that punch count? Do I know what’s in the punch? It’s called trashcan for a reason, can I be arrested with not knowing I’m consuming huge amounts of Gatorade that’s possibly watered down with Everclear?

Realizing, I have not spoke for quite some time, I blurted out, “Um no sir – how dare you? I don’t drink alcohol. I am ONLY 18 years old and a christian. I do not drink underage.”

Did it work? Why is he staring at me? Why won’t he say anything? Plan B. Run. I’m fast. He didn’t look fast. I’m going to run. Will he track me down? He knows what I look like. Blonde hair. Who am I kidding? He won’t find me; everyone has blonde hair at SMU. I’m running.  

As I’m contemplating my next move, laugher breaks his silence. “Honey, if you didn’t look like you were two days shy of your sweet 16, I would arrest you. Go home. Also, christian? I haven’t heard that one. Think of me as your savior, tomorrow is Sunday and you probably should go to church and following that note, pray.

Pray…yes. Christian, church and Christ. The three C’s…works every time. How could I forget?

Back to present time.  Maybe the three C’s will work for this whole not registering and inspecting my car on time.

My bible? Where is it? It’s in my car. Maybe after this Highland Park policeman returns my id, he’ll see the bible and let me free. Perfect plan.

“Where the hell is my bible,” I say to myself. Shit, Ash don’t say hell and bible in the same sentence. Ughh…don’t say shit when looking for said bible! Knock at the window. It’s too late. He’s back and what’s in his hand, a ticket.

Cop says in a much sterner tone, “ Miss, here is your ticket. You have until February 14^th to contest this. Do you have any questions?”

Defeated…I’m not getting out of this. Man, that’s one expensive ticket. This bites. Hmm, if he’s giving me a ticket, I’m at least having the last word.

Looking him straight into his eyes, I respond, “No. I don’t have any questions, but I’m surprised you don’t.”

That line must be invisible for me because I crossed it. Don’t you think? Oh well…I’ll learn one day.