It’s a Friday night and I’m driving up the highway with my two friends on our way to a party. We got the music on and we’re letting go of the stressful week and getting ourselves pumped up. My one friend and I had already started drinking so the other one drove. We’re about twenty minutes away from the college when we see a cop car on the other side of the highway. We decide not to risk anything so we slow down to the speed limit. Too late. The cop is already behind us.
We turn the music off and drive in silence waiting for the lights to turn on. Sure enough within minutes the red and blue lights blind the rear view mirror. My friend pulls over. My heart starts racing and my hands are shaking. I’m convinced I reek of alcohol. I’m positive he’s going to breathalyze me and arrest me. To make matters worse, my friend who was driving turns to me and says, “I’m not wearing any shoes and I don’t have my license on me. Should we switch places?”
I remind her that I drank beforehand but there we were, thinking about it. We took our seat belts off and seriously contemplated switching seats before the cop reached the car. There was no use. We were all about to be in serious trouble.
The cop taps the window on my side. My hands have never been so clammy. I roll down the window. He says, “Can I see your license and registration?”
I take the registration out of the glove compartment and then my friend, in a nervous shaken voice turns to my friend in the back and says, “Can you hand me my bag?” She begins to frantically search the bag and then looks up at the cop with tear filled eyes and says, “My grandma just got rushed to the hospital. I ran out of the house and forgot my license. I’m so sorry. I’m not usually this irresponsible. I’m just trying to get to the hospital as fast as I can.”
She lied. My friend just flat-out lied to a police officer. How could she possibly get away with a lie so absurd? I wanted to turn back time. I sat there pleading with God to get me out of there.
The cop tells her to calm down and says he understands where her priorities are. At this point, I admit to him that my friend is actually driving my car and I do have my license on me. He takes the license, writes my friend’s name down and goes back to his car. We sit there trying to take deep breaths but all three of us are nervous wrecks.
Like every other person who has been pulled over before, we begin coming up with other more elaborate lies to make our story fully plausible. Finally after an hour, or maybe ten minutes, the cop returns. He hands back my license and registration and says, “I hope your grandma is okay.”
Sometimes I wonder why he never questioned the reason I wasn’t driving my own car or if he ever wondered why three young girls chose to wear small tight dresses to a hospital, but nevertheless, he simply walked away and we were free.