Wednesday midafternoon in the office fighting off a small headache. We’re entering that time of year in Texas when it is still cool enough to do stuff outside, but hot enough to do it sporting a swimsuit.
This weekend, J, J’s friend from grad school and I piled into J’s SUV to ride down to San Marcos for the first river float of the season.
On the way up, unfortunately, J got pulled over for speeding. We were sooo close to San Marcos, going through a very small town called Martindale. We’d been following behind a slow truck towing a boat for quite a ways, so when we were finally were safe to pass J hit the accelerator and went around. Just as we were merging back into our lane, a cop comes out of nowhere and throws his lights on. It was really one of those, “are you kidding me?” moments.
The cop was a jerk. Do they make small town cops that aren’t? He asked leading and open-ended questions. He said he clocked J at a number that seems impossible. Now, I’m not saying we were not at fault. We were speeding. But there was no reason this guy had to be such a…typical small town cop. Really, dude? This is your impression of Martindale that you want to leave?
J swears that when his court date comes that he will drive up to the town and defend his case. Well, I secretly hope that he cools off by then and doesn’t. Because really, that cop doesn’t have anything better to do and will likely show up in court, guns blazing. And put yourself in a situation to be belittled by that guy again? I don’t think so. I’d rather pay the fine and take defensive driving any day.