All my life, I’ve had an impossible, unlikely scenario in my head: driving my laboring wife to the hospital, I get pulled over by the police for speeding.
We’re about eight miles from the hospital. It’s early Saturday morning. There’ll be no traffic, so I decide we’ll forget the back routes (which are really a touch longer, but less traveled) and go the main way.
About a mile down the road, we realize K doesn’t have her wallet. We go back, get the wallet, and start again.
K is groaning and begging me to hurry; the road is deserted; I speed up and do between 65 and 70 mph on a quiet highway with a speed limit of 45 mph.
As I near the intersection with the main road in town, the highway curves gently to the right, slightly downhill.
On the left side of the street is an Ingles. In a small darkened access road to the left sits a car. I know what it is immediately.
We come to the stop light, and I look in the rear view mirror — there he sits, though his lights are not on. I decided I’ll go ahead and pull over preemptively, but when the light turns green, his lights turn on. I pull over.
Fortunately, the officer is reasonable and lets me go with a warning to drive carefully.
But no offer to escort me? Come on! That’s not how we all envision it!