A Fugitive for a Day

[earthbelow]

So apparently my license had gotten suspended yesterday...and that was bad. And it was over a fine that I didn't owe. Apparently the nice people at the DMV didn't get the news that I went to traffic school, passed with flying vehicular colors, and was safe to get my drive on.

And I totally forgot about it, so I realized today as a *cop* was behind me that I had a suspended license and that was a long and interesting trip home. 'cause I was already thinking about how bad I look in one piece jumpsuits and that I was probably gonna end up somebody's bitch. Somebody named Bertha. With a tattoo and a bad case of gingivitis.

Luckily, however, like a lion that's already been fed - the Man, the popo, the 5-0, the heat passed me right on by.

And seeing as how the good Lord (you know the guy, the Good Lord, the one who's like your sweet grandma that you see like twice a year who always slips you a twenty when your parents aren't looking and says that if you ever get into bad gambling debt, you don't have to put on the red light (Roxanne!) you can come to her - what? your grandmother doesn't say that to you? Huh.), in his infinite wisdom had seen fit to give me one last chance to get square with the law, I decided to take it.

Although, swear to the same good Lord, I saw more popo, more Man, more Heat (and not in the wholesome basketball team kinda way) today than I've seen all calendar year. I counted. *Three* state troopers and *six* city police cars. That nine freakin' units of Gun Totin' Justice Dealers in like a three hour period. That's a copper every twenty minutes.

I feel the Man was hovering above me like a vulture, waiting for my death throes.

So I got my mom to drive me because my mom's been pulled over *once* in like twenty-seven years and it's rumored that she got away with peeing on a cop car - in front of a cop! - while in college. *nods*. My mom's been pulled over about as many times as Jacksonville's had a hurricane.

The law respects my mother. The law fears my mother.

Also, my mom has built-in Cop Radar because her Indian name is Drives With a Lead Foot. She can *smell* cops even when they're hidden behind trees or sitting camouflaged on the median of a highway. She knows where they live. I think she has a secret map of where every cop in the country is, because I remember her trying to teach me this skill as a child.

"See sweetie, there's three cops between here and Humboldt, and they like to sit *right there*. So when you get right here, slow down, and once you reach the big tree, you can speed up again. He doesn't pull anyone over for less than ten miles over the speed limit, but the one that sits outside of the Humboldt city limits will."

You know, like how lions on the discovery channel will be trying to teach their young how to spot and run down gazelles.

Anyway, In retrospect, I feel sorry I never got to meet Bertha.

Because I think I would've liked her much better than my two hours at the DMV where I proceded to get the number 67 while the number 19 was being called out.

Now as you might have guessed there were, at this DMV, near lunch time, what I like to call Screamingus Childrenus. I already had steeled myself for it.

But hark, as I did sit in my chair, longing for the day when my number would come up, I saw that rarest and most beautiful of species - Behavedus Offspringus, accompanied by it's wonderful companion Competentius Parentium.


I shoulda taken a picture. Really. Because these two are quickly becoming extinct in the world, and unlike wolved and whales and red-breasted boobies, we in America don't seem all that concerned about saving them so that future generations can enjoy them.

This kid waited the entire time (her mother's number was not far from mine). Sat in her chair as obedient as *pie*. Pie, man. *Pie*. Do you know how obedient pie is? Well, it's really obedient. And this kid put the pie to great shame. I only heard her mother say *one* thing to her, which was "Sit forward!" and *gasp* the child obeyed. And a few other times, the mother only had to *look* at the kid and the kid got into Straighten Up Fly Right mode pronto.

It was like the kid just could tell that if she didn't, something very bad would happen to her! It's like she'd had this experience before. It was like her mother had taken time to teach her how to behave.

That mom must've had Mystical Parenting Powers. Like discipline. And communication. And knowing how to get your child to do what you say (the most coveted of all parental powers!).

See! See! It can be done. I'm sure it takes work and time and *gasp* being smarter than your five year old. But it *can* be done.

My faith in humanity is a little closer to being restored.

And after two hours, I got to stand at a counter for all of two minutes and give the nice man my papers so he could tell the state that I was no longer a fugitive and that the cops could stop looking for me and that somebody would have to get Bertha a new girlfriend.



But it's over. I'm now squared with the Man and now I only have to worry about the FBI, the CIA, and the Department of Homeland Security coming to get me because I haven't been disabused yet of the notion that we in America have a constitution.

They're really trying to round up all the die-hard nutjobs who won't get with the 21st century and realize that fascism is the new democracy. Pfft. Voting? Voting causes cancer, didn't you hear? They've done studies. People who vote have a 40% chance of heart disease, emphysema and birth defects. Parents, talk to your children about voting. Voting funds terrorism (which is technically true 'cause dude - we elected the idiots who caused this mess. Well, you did. I voted for Nader - which I'm sure the government can confirm 'cause anonymous voting my *ass*).

Oh, and to whatever poor government schmuck is stuck reading my gorram livejournal (I firmly believe the government has a file on me somewhere and has been monitoring all of my phone calls, emails, and livejournal entries and are probably monitoring all forms of communication within the 50 states and Puerto Rico) - I fart in your general direction and I hope you're getting a good 401K plan in exchange for your *SOUL*.

- Meg

Comments

[captain-science.livejournal.com]

Well if your going to be Bonnie I guess that would make me Clyde then huh? Just try and keep the high speed chases to a minimum. I don't think my boss would like me getting collect calls at work from the Jacksonville county lock up asking me to bail you out!