I was excited, impatient, and late.
While I was attending the birthday festivities for my Nana (87) and cousin Emily (24) in San Carlos, my friends were waiting for me to start our annual fantasy football draft.
The birthday party was a blast, but San Carlos is a good two hours away from Occidental, where everyone was waiting at my buddy Jon’s house/construction zone with fantasy magazines and beers in hand (well, beers anyway). For those of you who don’t know Sonoma County, Occidental is way out in the woods. It’s a little town in a gorgeous wooded setting — a good two hours away from San Carlos.
Even though I didn’t leave my aunt and uncle’s house until 9:30, I was making good time as I cruised into Sebastopol. That’s when I saw the flashing lights … red and blue ones to be exact. Yep, I was getting pulled over. Apparently pondering the differences between Earnest Graham and LenDale White prohibited me from noticing that the speed limit had dropped from 45 to 30 mph.
After the cop took my license and registration and spent somewhere between 5 and 48 minutes writing my ticket, he came back to the car and showed it to me: 50 mph in a 30 zone. Ouch. Now even if I win my fantasy league it won’t cover the cost of a ticket and traffic school. And to add insult to injury, when I scribbled my signature on the ticket, the officer (who was about a 9 out of 10 on the Rude Cop scale) actually told me that my John Hancock didn’t look like the one on my driver’s license, to which I replied, “Are you kidding, dude?” Hey, I already got the ticket — I figured he probably wouldn’t give me a second one for sarcasm. He didn’t.