Wednesday, 28 October 2009
A Speeding Ticket
By Johna Ferguson
I don’t know how many of you can remember your first speeding ticket, but it is one of those indelible memories from my past. Part of the reason may be that it was the only one I ever got, but another part may be due to the circumstances surrounding it.
I was a teenager when I got it, not even driving for a year; actually the most vulnerable time of any youths’ driving career. I was driving my mother’s year-old DeSoto, a sedan with four doors and those wonderful headlights that disappeared under covers when turned off.
Five of my high school friends and I were headed to my beach house for the weekend, a drive of about 40 miles, mostly on four-lane pavement. It was the end of summer, yet one of those suddenly hot, sunny days and we were all dreaming of swimming and laying on the beach gossiping about our futures.
I was normally a very steady girl and my mother trusted my judgment in most matters, so she had no qualms about lending me her car or the beach house. We packed enough food for a week and piled into the car Saturday morning. As soon as we all got in, of course the radio had to be turned on to the latest popular music, loud enough so everyone could hear it.
We were singing at the tops of our voices when one of the girls in the back seat commented that there was a car following us, but quite a ways back. Actually, there was hardly anyone on the road that day, so she noticed that it was keeping up with us, but at a steady distance behind us.
After watching it for a minute or so, we decided it was the state patrol. I checked the speedometer and saw we were going 60 in a 50 mph area. What to do? We decided I should speed up and maybe I could lose it. We were rather immature in our knowledge about police, not realizing they could call ahead to another car and have us stopped.
Finally I noticed we were actually going 80, but we’d left that other car far behind so we couldn’t see it anymore. Then out of a side lane popped another police car with siren roaring; we had to stop.
The officer wrote me a ticket for doing 80 in a 50 mph zone. If he’d been young and cute we probably would have tried to sweet talk him into a warning ticket, but he was a gruff older man. He told me I’d have a court date in the nearby town of 13,000 on Tuesday.
Of course I’d be in school then so I asked if I could go into the town and just pay the ticket. He said things weren’t done that way, but I could try. We headed off to the police station/jail to plead our case. We six traipsed in wearing very short shorts, sandals and bright tee-shirts.
The Captain was out, being the weekend, so we dealt with a nice young, good-looking sergeant. I explained our plight, but all for naught; he wouldn’t change it to a warning. I then decided it was time to “pull rank”.
I asked if I could phone my uncle for he had been mayor of that small city for two terms and also was a lawyer and judge. The sergeant asked what his name was and he realized that the family name was the same as mine. He sat for a few minutes thinking it over, and said well yes, he supposed he could change it to a warning since it was my first, but I would still have to pay $30 since I was going 30 miles an hour over the set speed limit.
My friends had decided we would split the bill so everyone forked over $5 and we smiled happily as we quietly walked, sedately out of that building. We vowed to never tell our mother’s about our experience, but we all knew that we would be more careful drivers from that day on.
[INVITATION: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Instructions for submitting are here.]
Posted by Ronni Bennett at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post
Comments
A lesson learned. Wish I could say I have only had one speeding ticket, but I am a slow learner--or maybe just a speed demon. The irony is my husband always warns that other drivers will rear end me if I don't get UP to the speed limit and quite often other drivers give me a not so friendly gesture as they roar past me in a passing zone--so I don't really get it. Happy and safe motoring.
Posted by: olga on Oct 28, 2009 9:37:25 AM
LOL! What a nice story and a good way to learn to be a careful driver. Did you ever tell your mother?
Posted by: Florence on Oct 28, 2009 10:08:17 AM
Johna - What a great story!
I had just turned 16, and was driving on my mother's license when I got mine. I was driving her and my sisters to a NH ski resort. We were traveling in a rural wooded area through Chelmsford, MA in 1953, when my passengers became impatient with my slow driving. My mother! reached over with her left foot and pressed down on my right foot and the accelerator. We weren't going much faster than 40, when flashing red lights filled the rear window. (30 mph zone)
The cigar-smoking, robust officer wasn't interested in my mother's pleas for mercy. When we arrived at Franconia, NH, my father, who had come two days earlier, called his brother (my uncle), who was a selectman in our local MA town, He called his police chief, who in turn called the Clelmsford police chief, and we never heard another word. (How times have changed!) Like you I have never had another. - Sandy
Posted by: Sandy on Oct 28, 2009 10:38:09 AM
I was old enough to know better when I got my first speeding ticket. I was on my way to pick my husband up to go to the funeral of his former boss. I was running late and had been following a slow truck for miles on a two way country road with no opportunity to pass. When we hit town and the road widened to 4 lanes I hit the accelerator and zoomed past him. Just as I did so I saw a police car on the side road. I not only got a ticket, but my husband was mad at me for making us late to the funeral.
Posted by: Darlene on Oct 29, 2009 12:37:30 PM
