The benefits of having cute daughters…

About a year ago, I was traveling with the family to my parents.  We were in my wife’s Highlander, and, because its ride is very smooth and its acceleration impressive for a small SUV, I didn’t really notice that I was going about 83 in a 75…okay, maybe I did, but no trooper is going to pull me over for just 8 over, right?


Just before Hearne, a trooper (WHO CAME OUT OF NOWHERE, I SWEAR) pulls in behind me and flashes his lights.  I pull over, groaning because my wife is right beside me and smiling smugly because she was the last one to get a ticket and I hadn’t had one for years.  She also said she told me to slow down not ten minutes earlier.  Right.  Like I believe that.

Anyway, the trooper gets out of his car and makes his way to my window, which I’ve rolled down in preparation for the “Do you know why I pulled you over?” conversation. Before he says a word, though, Suzie, my cute, silly little five year old daughter sitting behind me in her booster seat, looks at the officer and says, “Hi!” in her cute, silly little five year old voice.

I’m looking at the officer and see his stern face break into a slight grin – he tried his BEST to suppress it, but couldn’t.  It was at that point that I thought to myself, “Hot damn, I’m not getting a ticket.”

I didn’t – he let me off with a warning.  My wife and I laughed about it the rest of the way to my parents, and she told me I owed my daughter big-time.

Cut to this morning, and I’m driving Suzie to school in my silver SS Camaro, not paying ANY attention to my speed as I go down the main drive from my house.  I honestly didn’t think I was speeding – the thought never crossed my mind.

That is, until the motorcycle cop set up at the end of the street flashed his lights as I came over the crest of the hill.

Digression: From time to time since the state trooper escape, I’ve told Suzie that if I were to ever get pulled over again, she should again say “Hi!” to the officer as he gets to my window (“what the hell?”, I think, it can’t hurt).

Suzie performs admirably. In fact, she says “Hi!” about four different times as the officer tells me he clocked me at 38 in a 30.  I expressed some surprise at the speed and he asks how fast I thought I was going.  In one of my more impressive moments of stupidity, I say I wasn’t paying any attention at all to my speed.  Nice, Michael.

He walks back to his bike with my license (Suzie says “Hi!” a couple more times) and I’m wondering how I’m going to hide this ticket from my wife.  When he returns, he tells me he’s giving me a warning, and asks me if I’ll slow it down next time.  “Absolutely,” I say, and he kind of laughs at that.  Then he tells me that some neighbors have complained about speeders on the street and then says he’s “looking for bigger fish” that morning.

I drive off relieved, of course, but also amazed at two things:

1) Motorcycle cops NEVER let people off of tickets.  I’ve never heard of it happening.


2) I’m in an SS Camaro – I’m not one of those “bigger fish”?

Still, I think I owe Suzie again.

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