It had been a particularly miserable start to the weekend. On Friday, I had walked out of school to discover someone had broken into my car. A window was smashed in my precious 1986 gold Chevy Nova, and some local hooligans had ripped my stereo right out of the dashboard. Not just any stereo, mind you. A stereo that played CDs. Totally high tech for 1993. The local hooligans also ran off with my fabulously puffy green leather jacket and my wallet. Nothing much was in my wallet except my driver's license and my dad's senior picture. I cried the most over losing that picture of my dad.
So that was Friday.
Saturday and Sunday didn't shape up much better. Argument with my parents, stress over boys, not feeling well...the regular high school stuff.
It was no wonder, then, that half-way through classes on Monday I started feeling too ill to stay at school. Maybe it was a real illness, or maybe it was the kind of illness that overly emotional 11th grade girls get. Whatever it was I signed myself out, and started the 20-minute drive home.
And so as I was sitting there at the red light, on my way home, I was primed for serious drama when I saw those lights flashing in my rear-view mirror. Normally, when that sort of thing happens, people get nervous. I had so many other things on my mind that getting nervous didn't even cross my mind. What also didn't cross my mind was that the red lights were for me.
The lights flashed, and I sat there, at the red light, waiting for it to turn green. Then a deep voice spoke from the lights, "Pull your car over."
That police car wasn't talking to me, obviously. I was at a red light, waiting behind a string of cars. I hadn't done anything wrong. I wasn't going to cross three lanes of traffic just to get to the side of the road.
The voice, however, was persistent.
"Pull your car over to the right side of the road."
I looked in my rear-view mirror and made eye contact with the officer. He nodded at me, and pointed. "You. Pull your car over."
I was mortified, but I complied. Years of Sunday School--and 3 months of driver's ed--taught me that it never pays to disobey the law. Somehow I managed to safely get my car to the side of the road, although not far enough over for the officer to safely approach the driver's side.
He knocked on the passenger side window; I merely stared at him in terror. I could not fathom why on earth I was getting in trouble, but eventually I leaned over and unlocked the door.
The officer had no idea what he was getting into.