Taking Exit 32A off 64E, I knew the police cruiser was behind me, as it was the only other car to slip off the interstate. My pulse automatically jumped up two or three beats, and I went into my usual defensive maneuvers, checking my speed and bearing like an OCD sub commander navigating through a mine field. Passing the sign proclaiming Finchville, the blue lights came on. Shit.
Pulling into a parking lot, I cut the engine and awaited my fate. This was complete and total bullshit. I was not speeding, all my lights work, and save for a wang mark on the right front quarterpanel, my car doesn't even look that bad.
The trooper asked for license and registration, and as I handed them over, he mentioned the reason he had stopped me was he was curious as to what a car with Floyd County, Indiana plates was doing in Shelby County, Kentucky. Aha, so it is a fucking hassle. For reference, Shelbyville, where I now have to go to court next month, is 17 miles from Louisville, which is directly across the river from where I live. So, I was now standing in a parking lot in Finchville, Kentucky because a state trooper was absolutely so fucking bored he stopped someone for venturing less than twenty miles from home. Wasn't aware I needed a passport to enter the Commonwealth of Kentucky, unsettling news for someone who owns an interstate courier service. If that is not a fucking hassle, then I am not really sure what qualifies.
Oh well, everything should be fine as long as he doesn't start the search the car nonsense. Then he started the search the car nonsense. Shit.
There are some I have talked since who said I should have refused to allow the search and stood my ground. Let me just say to them...yeah, right. That car was going to get searched one way or another, no matter how many pages I pulled from the civil libertarian playbook. I still had way too much shit to do, by half, to dick around with the waiting for a warrant, or dog team, or however they run the show the jerkwaters outside of Louisville. I took my lumps and at least went home at the end of the day, but not before the freakin' afterschool special lecture, during which the trooper made a point of mentioning the fact I had just turned 35.
Yeah, I got you, sir. Like D.A.R.E. in the mid-80s obviously made an impact on me, your speech is right up there. You got bored, rolled the dice, and managed to catch me in an extremely rare situation, end of story.
So now I have to appear in Shelby District Court the tail end of January. Oh, good. I'm working on a plea deal to run by the county attorney, so hopefully I won't even have to do that. If I do, however, at least I was able to Mapquest me some directions, as the uniform citation the trooper dashed off on his laptop fails to tell you where the courthouse is, just that you gotta be there. Real fucking handy for an out-of-state driver. Stay tuned...
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