I am a white kid from the relative suburbs.
Generally speaking, I’ve stayed out of trouble.
Weighting the first sentence about 95-99% and the second sentence picking up the remainder, you can see why I have no legit beef or fear of the fuzz.
That said, no matter where you come from no one likes getting pulled over. Unless you’re one of these people. In which case, good for you–there still is joy left in this world, apparently.
It’s probably also worth adding in here that I drive a Toyota Corolla, a car known not so much for its blazing speed but remarkable dependency and incredible ability to somehow look like every other four-door sedan on the planet.
I say all this because, in fairness, it’s not as if I’m constantly ducking and dodging my way out of a ticket. I generally stop at red lights, I consistently stay within 20 miles an hour of the posted speed limit and when convenient I will typically go hands-free when making a phone call.
No matter how careful you are as a driver, however, you’ve likely experienced the dread that is squalie either following you for an inordinate amount of time or—gasp!—peeling out from a speed trap after you pass.
Hell, sometimes it’s not your fault. Perhaps it’s that time of the month, quotas aren’t being met and the man or woman behind the wheel of the ole blue and white had a bad day. Or, maybe you’re doing 80 in a 55.
EITHER WAY… there’s two stages to this feeling.
Stage 1 is the feeling of thinking you’re getting pulled over… and you don’t. The best of this is when you’re cruising down the highway, blasting some non-ironic 90s boyband bangers mixed in with the occasional “Notorious Thugs” as you notice you’re suddenly going way faster than anyone on the road.
Why?
Because you’re the only dickhead that’s too into your music to notice the po-po posted up about 200 yards ahead. So you do the thing we all do, the most subtle option available: you slam on your brakes and pretend as if you’ve been doing the speed limit this whole time.
187 somehow doesn’t fall for this Daniel Day-Lewis performance and decides to pull out behind you as your car passes the post.
That moment 5-0 pulls off your tail (be it other-worldly intervention, something actually important happening that calls their attention elsewhere or anything else)… that’s the deepest exhale you’re going to take for a while.
Stage 2 is when Jake actually pulls you over. It could be for not having your seat belt on, it could be for having drug paraphernalia on your person, it could be for stealing a mini-van with a family in it. No matter what’s going on, it’s never a good moment when they’re walking up towards your car. Or, the car of the family you stole it from.
The heat is coming and you don’t want to face it.
And then, again by some miracle, you’re off without a ticket. Sure, they’ve probably issued some bullshit warning along with a pedantic and ridiculous lecture about how “they’re going to let you go, this one time” as if they’re doing you an actual favor and they don’t work for us, as opposed to the other way around. No, that’s not a chip on my shoulder. Keep moving.
Either stage you’ve found yourself in, that moment when you realize your whole day is going to be completely different is where this feeling resides. You went from completely carefree to having to deal with AT BEST paying a trumped up fine and AT WORST paying that insane fine plus your insurance potentially going up and your license getting points.
Think about how sweet it is, then, to go back to carefree. Exactly.
Go ahead and exhale.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: You already know.
scott spinelli 