Today marked the 35th birthday, and an odd one it was. I was at work today, not so strange in and of itself, but due to a series of unforeseen events and tasks, it wound up being over an hour longer than it should have been, and even longer still if you count my missed lunch and breaks.
On the way home a jerk in an Audi was flashing his lights at me and honking so that I’d get out of the left lane in which I was speeding heartily, but I moved over nonetheless. A few minutes later a state trooper shot past me lights-a-flashing, and down the road a bit the Audi was pulled over. I never get to see that happen.
Then I noticed flashing blue lights behind me again, but this time they were RIGHT behind me and they didn’t move. I pulled on to the shoulder, and the (different) trooper informed me that he had pulled me over for “drifting between lanes”. (I had slowed down after the Audi had passed me, so I wasn’t speeding at the time.) This is the second time I’ve been pulled over for this on the same stretch of road, and since there are rumble strips between lanes and I don’t hear any rumbling, I’m still not entirely clear as to how I’m drifting unawares.
The trooper was courteous and asked if I’d been drinking, I said no, I was just tired from work, and he copied my license info and let me go. But not before asking what I was listening to on the radio. I told him it was L.A. Theater Work’s presentation of Oscar Wilde’s An Ideal Husband. He asked me to turn it up and listened for a few seconds. “In twelve years,” he said, “I’ve never stopped anyone listening to an English play in their car. I feel like I should be more suspicious of you.”
I was on my way with a “Drive safe,” and only made one more stop on the way home to mail a package from the automated postal kiosk at the neighborhood post office. At some point since the last late-night mailing emergency I had, they began locking up the lobby at night. The apologetic sign stated in Comic Sans bold caps that there were “security concerns”. It’s a fairly quiet area so I have no idea what security concerns they could have, especially considering that the animated gentleman in the parking lot who asked me in a voice bursting with sincere enthusiasm if I wanted to “hit the powder” with him probably keeps a pretty sharp watch out for troublemakers.
Now I’m eating cheesecake. But that’s just a normal night.