The Felon

My husband calls me the world's "perfect" person. I never do anything wrong. I pay my taxes. I wear my seatbelt. I don't drink or do drugs. I feel that I am a responsible person 99% of the time.

Today, I went down to the Gun Club to pick up the score sheets for the League. Why waste a perfectly good trip without bringing the gun and getting in a little target practice. So, I'm driving through the neighborhood, which happens to be one of Stratford's ghetto housing projects and I pass a police car parked on the side of the road. I didn't think anything of it. Why should I? I was doing the speed limit and had my seatbelt on. As I pass him, he pulls out behind me. I get to the corner and turn right and he turns right after me. I proceed a quarter-mile down the road and pull into the parking lot of the Gun Club and he pulls in right behind me.

Now, I'm all flustered because I can't, for the life of me, figure out why I am being followed by a cop. As I get out of the car, the Officer instructs me to get back in the car and stay there. WHAT the F**&^ did I do???? Next thing I know, a second squad car pulls into the parking lot behind me. Realization hits me: Oh my God, I have a GUN in the car. My nerves are now getting frazzled. What's this? ANOTHER squad car? Three police cars behind me and I still don't know what I did.

As the Officer comes up to me and takes my gun away, he tells me I have an expired registration. What? My registration's expired??? How can this be??? This is a brand new car!!! Why am I being punished for something that either the Dealership or the Motor Vehicle Department screwed up on. Three squad cars are necessary because my registration expired?!?!

After being served my $93.00 citation (otherwise known as a "Complaint Ticket"), I am told that I should leave my car in the parking lot. My brains are thinking, "Are you friggin' nuts??? I'm not going to leave my brand new car here in the projects of Stratford! Apparently I drove around for over a year without it being registered, I'm sure I can drive the next 20 minutes to get home." Then, this lovely Officer tells me that if I had gotten into an accident with an unregistered motor vehicle, the insurance company wouldn't be obligated to cover it. (I REALLY) needed to hear this.

As the Officer leaves, he hands me my gun case back and says, "Have a nice shoot." Have a nice shoot? By now I am shaking so hard I can't even write my name as I try to enter it in the Club's sign-in sheet. Tears are streaming down my face in buckets due to the stress, frustration, anger, humiliation, and embarrassment I am feeling. And it's Sunday. The DMV is closed today and is also closed on Monday.

I go into the range and do my lousy shooting just to waste time, as two of the police men decide to stick around in the parking lot across the street. A half hour later I leave and take the highway home. Still frazzled and now deadly afraid that I'll get pulled over again by another Stratford or hometown cop, my eyes are constantly gazed in the rear-view mirror. Oh, no. What's this behind me? Flashing lights? I can't stand it. No, wait: I'm being followed by a rat-trap car with a crystal hanging in the windshield. Just get me home in one piece.

Rain and Sticky Feet

I hate days like this. Days where it is rainy and hot and your feet stick to the linoleum floor. We needed the rain as it hasn't rained here in two weeks. Our first dry spell all year.

I Have Arrived

Wow. My first blog. This is so cool. A place to write my intimate feelings, release my frustration, and entertain the general public. More to follow after I learn how to blog.