Does My Disdain For Traffic Laws Really Make Me a Criminal?

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It wasn’t that I was running late. I honestly just usually drive too fast. So when I saw the cop – parked sort of in the ditch, with no lights on and behind an almost intentionally-placed saguaro – I instinctively hit the brakes. I was driving down a winding road that I was familiar with so I knew I had just passed the sign that reduces speed from 45 to 35 miles per hour. I had learned to drive along this stretch of road. The Pinal County Sheriff’s car suddenly came to life and began the U-turn that I immediately knew would end with yet another speeding ticket. Moreover, that time, it would mean a suspension of my driver’s license.
I looked down at my speedometer just as I saw the headlights come on. I saw the red needle was planted just past 55 as I hit the brakes. Though I knew I was too late, I slowed the vehicle to 42 M.P.H. before the black-and-white finished turning around to catch me. I had not been drinking. I was on my way to dinner at an old family friend’s house. He had been drinking and had already called me twice to see why I was running late. I thought about the influence of his drunken impatience and immediately started rationalizing it into some kind of excuse in my head just as the cop caught up to me and turned on his red-and-blues.
The engagement had begun: I was about to get another speeding ticket. Once again, my carelessness at driving was about to leave me feeling like a criminal.
This was certainly not my first baptismal in the blinding strobe of police lights. Though I really do not like driving, it is certainly necessary in such spread-out metropolitan area as Tucson. I’m not one to care very much if I’m running late, so time is not a motivation to disregard the law. I’m also not the sort of person that...

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...of knowing that I have significantly helped the financial stability of several local regional courts. Every time I sit waiting for a ride somewhere, I can find solace in my environmental consciousness, albeit forced attrition. And every time I pass a person that’s been pulled over, I can laugh with the smugness of one who truly knows the pain of another.
Despite the rationalized advantages, I know the privilege of driving is important. Still, the need to rebel against authority is burned into my memory like skid marks on pavement. All this flashed through my mind on the night I flew through the 45-to-35 speed trap and got the ticket that was my waterloo. I had just finished work and was wearing a suit and tie. The officer started the conversation by asking where I was coming from, and then asked me if I always wore a suit to work. I replied, “Of course, don’t you?”

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