So I'm sitting in the GSU, listening to Tracy Chapman (Duh.) -
Nevermind the song just switched now I'm listening to Tom Petty. This song brings me to last summer, driving in my Trailblazer down highway 44 in the fast lane, all the windows down, doing that thing that terrifies my mom when I drive with one knee bent, with my foot up on the seat...I love that feeling. There's something about knowing you're driving 125 feet per second that just can't be described, at least not in any way that gives it justification. Plus my aviator sunglasses look so badass. I think they give me the mindset of a policeman; if I ever got pulled over my allibi would be, "...It's the sunglasses." And, as the policeman would be wearing aviators too, he would understand.
Which brings me to a question: do speed limits count for bikes? Multiple times I've questioned this when I'm going down Highland in 37 when the MPH sign CLEARLY says 35. Do speedometers even read bike speeds? And how dumb would the policeman feel for turning on his sirens and going after a BIKE? He would literally be driving behind me at 30 mph. I would try to outride him and take off at a dead sprint, just to see what he would do. What would he say when he went back to the precinct?..."I had to go after a Felt F75 today. It was a tough chase, I barely go out alive."
Okay and say I resisted, and he arrested me. I hope he knows he'd have to handcuff Dr. Jones, too. And he's a feisty one; he won't go down without a fight, my little speed demon.
This reminds me of my one time I rode in the back of a police car. Yes, I've been the person you pull next to at a stop light, look down and think, "Hahahahaha, Eff your life." I've never felt so judged in my LIFE. The funny part was I was just getting a ride home, and the damn policewoman had such a stick up her ass she wouldn't let me sit up front. What did she think I was gonna do? Push the siren buttons? Touch her gun? "PUNCH BUGGY!" her?
I was pissed. Especially when she tried to make small talk with me. Excuse me, I hate to interject here, Miss Officer, but do you REALLY think I want to talk to you about how I attend an all girls Catholic school and am vice president of my class? I'm pretty sure we just passed one of my nuns driving to mass - I'm going to get an earful on Monday and are YOU going to be there to say I didn't do anything wrong? No. I'll be the girl insisting, "I"M INNOCENT!" and I'll get the: "that's what they ALL say" look.
And, of course, we drove approximately 25 the entire ride home and hit every. single. light.
Smile and wave, Kate, smile and wave.
So on that note, I just have one thing to say:
Dear Mr. Policeman,
You think you're all big and tough in that navy blue uniform of yours with your shiny leather belt, handcuffs, stick, and H&K Glock Seventeen. But let's see how you look without all your little bells and whistles. That's right, your legs are ghostly and you've clearly had one too many free doughnuts. Move along, sir.
I just hope I never have to be in that position with my hands behind my back. Actually, I almost WANTED her to handcuff me, for effect. It would have made it a little more believable at the stop light when I licked the window.
So my conclusion to the MPH thing? If you're self propelled, there are no limits.
love love love,
me
Nevermind the song just switched now I'm listening to Tom Petty. This song brings me to last summer, driving in my Trailblazer down highway 44 in the fast lane, all the windows down, doing that thing that terrifies my mom when I drive with one knee bent, with my foot up on the seat...I love that feeling. There's something about knowing you're driving 125 feet per second that just can't be described, at least not in any way that gives it justification. Plus my aviator sunglasses look so badass. I think they give me the mindset of a policeman; if I ever got pulled over my allibi would be, "...It's the sunglasses." And, as the policeman would be wearing aviators too, he would understand.
Which brings me to a question: do speed limits count for bikes? Multiple times I've questioned this when I'm going down Highland in 37 when the MPH sign CLEARLY says 35. Do speedometers even read bike speeds? And how dumb would the policeman feel for turning on his sirens and going after a BIKE? He would literally be driving behind me at 30 mph. I would try to outride him and take off at a dead sprint, just to see what he would do. What would he say when he went back to the precinct?..."I had to go after a Felt F75 today. It was a tough chase, I barely go out alive."
Okay and say I resisted, and he arrested me. I hope he knows he'd have to handcuff Dr. Jones, too. And he's a feisty one; he won't go down without a fight, my little speed demon.
This reminds me of my one time I rode in the back of a police car. Yes, I've been the person you pull next to at a stop light, look down and think, "Hahahahaha, Eff your life." I've never felt so judged in my LIFE. The funny part was I was just getting a ride home, and the damn policewoman had such a stick up her ass she wouldn't let me sit up front. What did she think I was gonna do? Push the siren buttons? Touch her gun? "PUNCH BUGGY!" her?
I was pissed. Especially when she tried to make small talk with me. Excuse me, I hate to interject here, Miss Officer, but do you REALLY think I want to talk to you about how I attend an all girls Catholic school and am vice president of my class? I'm pretty sure we just passed one of my nuns driving to mass - I'm going to get an earful on Monday and are YOU going to be there to say I didn't do anything wrong? No. I'll be the girl insisting, "I"M INNOCENT!" and I'll get the: "that's what they ALL say" look.
And, of course, we drove approximately 25 the entire ride home and hit every. single. light.
Smile and wave, Kate, smile and wave.
So on that note, I just have one thing to say:
Dear Mr. Policeman,
You think you're all big and tough in that navy blue uniform of yours with your shiny leather belt, handcuffs, stick, and H&K Glock Seventeen. But let's see how you look without all your little bells and whistles. That's right, your legs are ghostly and you've clearly had one too many free doughnuts. Move along, sir.
I just hope I never have to be in that position with my hands behind my back. Actually, I almost WANTED her to handcuff me, for effect. It would have made it a little more believable at the stop light when I licked the window.
So my conclusion to the MPH thing? If you're self propelled, there are no limits.
love love love,
me
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