And under the judge's glaring eyes, my lawyer and I departed the courtroom.

A 1969 Camaro SuperSport 350.  That was my baby.  And like all babies, it got into trouble.  So much trouble just as soon as I was given the keys.  And, of course,  my baby took me right into that trouble along with her.

My first job was working for Frederic Storaska - I booked him at colleges and universities across the country to speak on how to prevent being raped. Being employed, I needed some wheels.  My mother took me to the Chevrolet dealership and told me to pick a car and I picked one.  Just as my mom was opening her mouth, I reminded her that she had neglected to put any restrictions on my choice.  And, gosh, my mom closed her mouth and I drove the car off the lot.  Wonders never cease.  Mom did live to regret buying Jet, as she always called my car, because she had not bought a car for any of my three siblings.  That story, though, doesn't need to be told now.  Or ever, actually.

Well, Jet and I were great friends the first week.  We drove to work and back to my apartment with nary an incident.  But then came the end of the week and I felt inclined to drive the sixty miles to thank my mom for the car - and my presence was always the best present I could ever give her.  Sooooo, I gave my mom the present of my presence having no idea what the cost of the present/presence would be.

After work that Friday afternoon, Jet and I head for the beltway around Raleigh NC.   And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but red and blue lights barrelling down the highway.  Not for me, I knew, so I kept on my merry way listening to WKIX, the radio station ever.  

When the trooper pulled in behind me I thought he was going to exit the beltway; when he also sat on his horn, I thought I should perhaps, maybe, pull over to find out what his problem was.

He didn't have a problem.  I did.  Or rather Jet did.

"What in the world do you think you're doing?"

"I've just left work and am driving to Southern Pines to see my mother."

"Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I'm not in a hurry."

"Do you know how fast you were going?"

"No, sir."

"87"

"That's not possible."

"Yes it is," he said with a most disturbing facial expression.

"Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, I do.  Can I just give you a check now and we forget this ever happened?"

"Are you bribing me?"

"OH, NO SIR, OFFICER.  I don't know the proper proceedure."

"You just admitted to knowing what your going 87mph meant."  [The speed limit was 55 mph on the beltway.]

"Yes, Sir, Officer, if I go 15 miles over the limit, I lose my license for 3 years.  I cannot lose my license.  I'll do anything so that I don't lose it."

"Are you propositioning me?"

"OH, NO, SIR, OFFICER. I would never, never do such a thing."  [I almost added that I was a virgin but stopped short of that.]

"You will receive a summons to appear in court.  Do not miss this date."

"Yes, Sir, Officer, I will be there."

I told a lawyer friend about the incident and he insisted on going with me to court.

Judge:  "I'm confused about the circumstances of your ticket.  Will you please explain.?"

Lawyer:  "She agrees to the officer's statement and his recommendation."

Judge:  After a pause, "Very well, if you have a moving violation of any sort in the next three years, you will lose your license for three years.  You have a $200 fine.  Do you have anything you would like to say in your behalf?  That is a very high fine."

Me:  "No, Your Honor, I have no comment."

And under the judge's glaring/questioning eyes, my lawyer and I departed the courtroom.

That should be the end of the story, right?

It isn't.  The next weekend I went home, I had a plastic cup of diet coke I was drinking.  A state trooper passed me, did a quick u-turn and then tailed me for what seemed like forever.  Finally, I pulled over and got out of my car as he also had pulled over.  I told him he was following me too closely and why was he doing that.  He asked if I was drinking and driving; I said yes, I'm drinking diet coke and driving and offered the cup for him to smell the liquid.

"Aw, that's okay," he said so sweetly, "I passed you a while ago and would like to ask you out."

I leaned into my car and got a paper and pen and noted his name and badge number.

He said, with such hope in his voice, "oh, you're going to call me - here's my phone number...."  I interrupted him and said, "No, I'm going to report you for harrassment."

When I returned to my car, I thought I must be somekind of Really Big Fool.  I told my lawyer friend  about this incident also.

"Bad decision, Karen," he said.  What if he reports finding drugs in your car?"

I never really enjoyed driving Jet, or any car, since then.