Having a Bad Day.

13 Aug

Damn, Damn, Damn….why now? What had triggered the pull over? I hadn’t been speeding….it was only threatening to rain but being ever cautious I had my wipers on…I know that my brake  lights work…I made a complete and safe stop before turning left at that last light….Dear God, Why this morning of all mornings… and why ME? Excuse me world while I have a little panic attack about now……

In my rear view mirror, I watched him dismount from the motorcycle and place his helmet on the seat. He gathered up his little (job security) ticket pad, adjusted his official (and really-really cool) sun glasses and started striding (yum, nice long legs) my way. In the dark blue uniform he was hot, so maybe I could flirt my way outta this one….Deep breathes…….Nothing to fear….. Be calm, be cool, and above all don’t say something stupid.

“Hello Officer, I seem to be lost so maybe you can help me. Do you know where 47 Beacon Lane is located?”

“Ah, ma’am, you know I pulled you over for a reason, so I get to ask the questions here. You wanna just let me see your license and registration?”

“Well, you see that could be a little problem officer, since I was in such a rush out of the house this morning, I believe I left my wallet on the counter. I had my hands full as well, and you know how that is… when you need help…. well….an extra hand is just hard to find.”

“Yes ma’am, but how ’bout your registration, that should be in the glove compartment.”

“Ah, yes, you are correct officer, it should be in the glove compartment, but since this isn’t my car, if I told you it isn’t in there, it really shouldn’t be my fault, I mean you can’t possibly hold that against me? It not being in the glove compartment, I mean….you can’t…can you? So you don’t need to look there, because I’m always very organized and if this was my car… well I put things in the places that they should be, but since it’s not in the glove compartment, there is really no need to look, I mean really, I, I, ….”

Yes, I realized I was babbling and that I had run out of steam but I dropped back and punted. Looking straight at him, I forced the tears to well in my eyes and let a few roll down my cheeks to drop towards my chest, with top buttons undone for what I hoped, effect leading to distraction.

He never missed a beat.

“So ma’am, let me get this straight: you are looking for 47 Beacon Street, which happens to be the address for the County Crematorium, you don’t have your drivers license, this isn’t your car and you are all fired sure there isn’t a registration in the glove compartment and evidently you don’t want me looking in there? That seem to about wrap this situation up in a nut shell? Ma’am, please get out of the car and put your hands on the hood”.

I did as I was told, trying not to sigh outloud in frustration. With the steam rising because of the now drizzling rain, I stretched my arms out over my head with my palms on the warm hood, all the while thinking, if there is a God, please please don’t let him start poking around. From the corner of my eye, I could see him sit in the drivers seat and lean to reach the glove compartment. Well , this just wasn’t going to be my day. I guess that extra hand wasn’t gonna be so awfully hard to find after all.

Member’s Pick, Friday:
A Three-Rules Challenge
Rule #1: Somehow incorporate a question into your story
Rule #2: Somehow include a weather element (e.g rain, snow, etc.)
Rule #3: Somehow include someone in a uniform

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Posted by on August 13, 2010 in Flash Fiction, Southern Humor


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