I Can’t Drive 55!

Speed_Limit_55_sign.svgWay, way back in the days before pizza apps and severely deformed Snapchat photos, a smart-mouthed, seemingly confident (yet secretly terrified) teenager started her in-car drivers ed. Despite the fact that she was assigned to drive with two stinky boys—ew—her nerves settled and she did quite well under the wheel . . . That is, until the day her instructor turned to Stinky 1 and Stinky 2 (both smirking in the back seat) and said, “She’s doing pretty good, ain’t she boys? She’s one of the better drivers I’ve had lately. There’s just one thing she’s doing wrong . . . Know what it is?”

In the rear-view, she watched both stinks shake their heads and grin (assholes). The instructor then posed the question to her. “Do you know what you’re doing wrong?”

Her defiant nature took over. “No, I really don’t. I keep checking my mirrors. There’s nothing behind me . . . I’ve not run out of my lane. I don’t know . . . so just tell me what it is.” She was obviously annoyed with his little game of guess what.

She could feel all six of their eyes—their male eyes—on the back and side of her head, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off the road. She wondered if they were playing some kind of sick mess-with-the-girl game. Were the stinks in on it? Did they know what was going on?

A sudden loud voice to her right made her jump. “You’re speeding!” her instructor barked out as he jerked up the emergency brake to slow her down.

“Crap,” she said under her breath as she lifted her foot from the gas pedal . . .

That, little speed demon . . . yeah, that was me—true story—and that whole scene replayed in my head this morning as I sat in courtroom number 3 waiting to learn the consequences of my 70 in a 55. It is entirely possible that I missed my calling. Someone should have strapped me in, put a helmet on my head, and pointed me toward the track a long time ago . . . Oh well, I guess it’s too late for that career change.

On the bright side, I still hold a valid NC driver’s license.