My Big Fat Bummer Weekend -- Part One

Note to self: In the future, refrain from exceeding the posted speed limit while driving past the Beech Grove Police Department headquarters.

That was my first mistake last weekend.

A mile down the road past the BGPD headquarters, I was chatting on the phone with Mrs. Smith, oblivious to my impending sorrows, when the red lights flashing through the rear window caught my eye.

"Peggy, I've gotta go -- I'm getting pulled over," I said. "I'll be home soon, I hope."

I pulled over to stop at what looked like a safe spot, turned off the engine, and waited to see what had happened. At the time, as is so often the case, I was clueless. I consoled myself with the thought that I must have burnt out a tail light.

A young police officer, who I swear could not have finished high school yet, walked up to my door and asked me if I knew why he had pulled me over.

"No officer, I don't," I replied with honest innocence.

"I clocked you doing 41 in a 25 mile per hour zone as you drove past the police station on Churchman Avenue."

Well, duh. What could I say? He was probably right, since I don't pay slavish attention to my speedometer. I am so busy practicing my finely honed defensive driving skills, constantly scanning the road ahead for potential hazards, that I don't have time to waste on constantly checking the speedometer.

My basic philosophy on speed limits has always been -- "If it feels safe to me, I'm not going too fast." I am, after all, a seasoned professional driver.

I intuitively sensed, however, that this policeman would not be interested in my defensive driving philosophy, especially in light of the fact that my finely honed defensive driving skills had not alerted me to the hazard of speeding past his police station.

I decided it was best to just take it like a man, and get it over with.

"Officer, are you telling me that I was stupid enough to speed as I drove past the police station?"

"Yes."

"Well," I sighed as I handed him my license and registration, "I guess I deserve a ticket for doing something that dumb."

He smiled as he took my documents. "I'll be right back," he said and he walked away towards his patrol car.

I sat there thinking what a crummy way this was to end the work week. Probably a fine of $100 or more. Points on my license. Driving is a major part of my job, so points are things to be seriously avoided.

I was pondering all these things when he snuck up behind me and said, "Sir, the BMV report says that your driver's license is suspended."

I did not like the sound of that. He wasn't smiling anymore, either.

My look of obvious surprise and disbelief is probably what kept him from being offended when I exclaimed, "No way!"

"I'll check it again to be sure. Please wait right here, sir."

Have you ever noticed that the more trouble you are in, the more formally a law enforcement officer will address you? It can be quite unnerving.

This time he was gone a long time. I sat there, and it occurred to me that driving with a suspended license is probably kind of serious. Could I go to jail for this? Whatever could have happened? This was the first time I had even been pulled over in almost three years. There had to be a mistake.

Suddenly he was beside me again. Do they teach them to sneak up on people like that at the Police Academy?

"Mr. Smith (now it is MR. SMITH, probably a sign that the Taser is loaded) the BMV report indicates your license is suspended, but it won't tell me why. Usually it gives a cause, but I can't get any more info on you. It could possibly be a mistake -- your record is clean for the past two years."

To make a long story short, he gave me one ticket for speeding, and another for driving with a suspended license. He said that he would not arrest me or tow my vehicle if I promised to go straight home and not drive again until my license was reinstated.

I decided, in approximately a quarter-nano-second, that I should politely accept his gracious offer and drive myself home...very slowly.

I had some business out of town on the following day, a Saturday, and my number one son, Steve, kindly offered to chauffeur me around that afternoon. Halfway to our destination, we hit a big bump on the highway. Instantly my tailpipe came loose and began clanking along on the pavement.

We pulled over. I got out, crawled beneath the van, yanked the tail pipe totally loose, and tossed it into the back.

"Wow, dad, this just isn't your day, is it?" Steve commented.

Two hours later, as we were preparing to return home, the van wouldn't start. Not even a click. Nothing.

Steve started laughing. "Dad, sometimes you just have to laugh."

Call me carnal if you must, but right then I felt no joy in my spirit.

We pulled the battery out. There was an Auto Zone store across the street. The battery tested out fine.

"Probably the starter," the Auto Zone guy said. The new starter cost me $100, but I still needed a way to install it. I didn't have the tools I needed with me.

The Auto Zone guy was helpful. "Here's a number you can call. This guy's a mobile mechanic. He's done work for us before. He'll come right out and fix it while you wait."

Auto-Zone guy handed Steve a business card that read: "8-UP Auto Repair." Well, of course! Why try to tip the scales of destiny in my favor at this point?

So Steve called him. "8-UP" arrived within 10 minutes, and had the new starter installed in less than 30 minutes. He charged me $50, which seemed reasonable enough for a house call. Maybe I can get back home and crawl into bed before anything else goes wrong today.

While "8-UP" was outside working on the van, Steve and I had ducked into a nearby Subway restaurant to grab a bite. Business was slow, since it was mid-afternoon, so we ended up talking with the two teenage girls working the counter.

Steve told them the story about my really bad bummer weekend: the speeding ticket, the suspended license, the broken tail-pipe, the starter going out. It was such a pathetic story, even I was starting to think it was funny.

As the young woman rang up my sandwich purchase, I gave her my trusty VISA card, since I was out of cash after my visit to Auto Zone.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, and then looked at me with a blank stare. "Your credit card is denied."

I had just about had enough. How many tables will I have to bus at this Subway to pay for a foot-long value meal? Whatever happens, please don't call the cops!

"You have GOT to be kidding me!" I shouted.

She broke out laughing. "Yeah, I am."

My son really thought that was funny, too. Good thing for him he had the keys -- and a valid driver's license.