I don’t get traffic tickets.
I’ve lived in Georgia for almost 16 years, and have received exactly one traffic ticket in all that time. Oh, I’ve gotten my share of parking tickets, though not as many as in past years. Living in Chicagoland and living in DC in the past, I used to get so many parking tickets I could wallpaper a closet with them.
Not so much now, thanks to parking lots — I don’t park on the street very often anymore.
But I’ll admit to being impatient. I was taking my son to school and pulled up to the light at Concord Road and South Cobb Drive this morning. I was about five or six car lengths back from the marking for the left turn lane. Impatient me? I pulled out to go make the left turn. Right in front of one of Smyrna’s Finest.
He politely pulled in behind me and flipped his lights on.
“The reason I pulled you over, Mr. King,” he started after looking at my license.
Mind you, my son Mitchell is going to get his drivers license tomorrow. Mitchell starts fussing at me. If you hadn’t been so impatient…see, I’m gonna be late to school…Mom’s gonna get mad…yadda-yadda-yadda…
The local gendarme politely gives me the ticket, snow flurries swirling around him. Thank you, officer — and I didn’t even roll my eyes.
My son taunted me mercilessly as we finished our ride to school.
Did I mention that I don’t get tickets?
“You do now,” was Mitchell’s retort.