I got stopped by the police last night on my way home from work. I had just crossed a railroad crossing, and I hadn't slowed down much. The police cruiser is always there, and lo, he pulled out quickly and followed me and pulled me over. Eeek. I was trying to remember if I was airborne when I crossed those tracks. I had no idea what I had done, but I thought maybe I didn't slow down enough or something.
Turns out, my inspection sticker on my car window reads 11. That is a no no. I Was going to tell him that I have been very busy with beading and Christmas preparations, but he didn't actually ask me anything or give me any time to talk. He was the nicest man! He said, "I'm not going to give you a ticket." Those were his first words. He said, "I'm going to give you a warning so you can keep it in your glove box, so if you get picked up, the next policeman won't give you a ticket either." He said, "Tickets go to insurance companies and then they raise their fees." Then he asked if I was related to a police officer named Danny Shea (I am not), who he particularly liked and said was "a hard working policeman, unlike most of them." Oops.
I like policemen. He could not have been nicer. It took a while for him to write the warning ... and needless to say, I am here happy enconsed at home this morning while the shining white knight George is off with my car to get the inspection sticker. An extra cup of coffee for me this morning. Two nice fellas!
Have a great day!
