So You Had a Bad Day

I stumbled groggy-eyed out of bed at 8:11 this morning, slightly panicked that I hadn't set my alarm and had only 19 minutes to get Riesa ready and out the door so I could deliver my boys to school on time. As mothers sometimes do when mornings are hectic, I contemplated staying in my jammies for the carpool ride...afterall, who's gonna see me? I thought better of that idea and threw on some old worn workout pants and a baggy sweatshirt...not a huge step up from the jammies, but I feel slightly better about being in an accident in real clothes...ragged or not. I left my hair completely disheveled...no combing, no barretts, no nothin'....just a big ratty mess. I got nothin' to prove...right? No one to impress...here's hopin' this isn't the one morning I run into Mike Matheny in the parking lot at school, eh?

We ran out the door at 8:48...only 8 minutes behind schedule. Phew! We can do this! Little did I know that I was headin' straight into the arms of The Law.

To be continued...

So You Had a Bad Day, 2

So...we quickly and efficiently drop Riesa at her day program and head north on Lindbergh toward Westminster. So far so good. As we pass Clayton Road, I see a police officer pull into the sparse right lane of traffic. The gal in front of me (left lane) decides she can't pass him because...well, you know...he's a policeman! But me? I know how this works. Afterall, my Uncle Walter served as a MO Highway patrolman for Troop C for most of his life, and used to laugh about drivers who wouldn't pass an officer even though he was traveling slower than the speed limit. No fear here. I know this guy is simply amusing himself with everyone slowing down just 'cause they see him.

I double-check the speed limit sign - 40 mph...we're good - then proceed to pass the car in front of me as well as the officer. No problem. He pulls over behind me, but I'm careful to maintain my 40 mph. All is well. At least we think all is well until his siren blares and his lights flash. Oh...better move to the right and get out of his way! He must've gotten a call! He follows. I move further to the right and....he follows. I turn off the main drag and...you guessed it. He follows.

My heart is pounding, 'cause I'm a little freaked out! I saw the sign. I wasn't speeding. WHY is he pulling me over? Oh...shoot. I don't have plates on the front of this car and he's wondering why (long story....). Dang it! Oh, and SHOOT!!! My license is at home in my jeans pocket from last night. GREAT!

The officer approaches my window and asks to see my license, which I promptly admit I don't have on me. "Well, you were exceeding the speed limit back there...it's 30 in the construction zone."

I meekly explain that I specifically looked for the sign and saw 40...sorry, I didn't know.

"I ran your plates and they are registered to a 1997 blue Volvo wagon, not a Honda pilot."

"Yes, sir, we just bought this about 2-3 weeks ago."

"Do you have a bill of sale?"

"Uh, let me look...no, sir, I don't."

"Proof of insurance?"

"Uh...no, sir...I don't have that either."

"You buy this from a dealer?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any idea why they didn't give you 30-day dealer tags?"

"No, sir. They told my husband we could just use the old ones for 30 days...we didn't check that out, we just took their word for it."

He takes what info I can give him: Name, DOB and SS#

Here's where I stand at this moment:

1. Speeding in a construction zone

2. No license

3. Tags designated for a different car

4. Missing tag on the front of car

5. No proof of purchase

6. No proof of insurance

I'm in BIIIGGG trouble!

To be continued...

So You Had a Bad Day, 3

At this point, I'm pretty much ready to string up my husband. Where's the blasted bill of sale? Why don't I have an insurance card? Why did we keep these bloody tags?

So, while the officer investigates, I call said hubby to let him know what's up...see if he can give me any info that might get me out of this mess.

The officer approaches again. "Ma'am, is that your son?" He points to Grant who is in the front seat.

"Yes, sir, both of these boys are my sons."

"I'm gonna need you to step out of the car and come with me, please."

"Uh...O-K." (Internal monologue: Crap! I look ridiculous...how humiliating! What the hell did I do?!!)

"Ma'am, have you ever been to Camden County?"

"Missouri?"

"Yes, Camden County Missouri."

"Maybe...is that where Lebanon is?"

"Probably."

"Well, if it is, then yes I have."

"There is a warrant for your arrest in Camden County. Are you aware of that?"

"WHAT?!! That's impossible!"

"No, Ma'am it isn't."

"What for? What is it that I'm meant to have done?" (Broadway line there...anyone?)

"It's for fraud...probably a bad check."

"Impossible. I go there to visit my sister! That can't be me. You must have the wrong person! When...where...why haven't they come for me before now?"

My mind is spinning, my heart is pounding and my legs are shaking. He proceeds, "You are the right person. This is tied to your SS# and your address. 5'5" 115 lbs.?"

Relieved for the first time ever about my body mass..."Oh, no, sir! That's definitely not me! I do NOT weigh 115 lbs!"

"But is that what your license says?"

The impudence! The audacity! The unmitigated gall!

"No, sir, I'm one of those rare HONEST people who tell the truth about my weight on my license." (O-K, I didn't say THAT...I just told him the actual weight listed on my license, which quite frankly, is none of YOUR business!!)

He also jumbles my birthdate by a couple of days, and I correct him. He sends me back to my car so that he can investigate further.

I tell the boys that he wants to arrest me. They express the appropriate shock and awe.

And again, I call my husband. This time I ask him to contact the school and let them know his children will be late....VERY late...which he obligingly does.

The officer summons me out of the car once more (he apparently does not want my children to know their mother is a criminal), and very kindly informs me that if my children weren't with me, he'd be arrestin' and cartin' me to the slammer at this very moment!! Instead...

He advises me to call Camden County and get this straightened out because it's my check, my Social, and my address, but with discrepancies on the DOB, height and weight. Then...

He lets me go. Yep. That's right. I guess the terror in my eyes was enough to awaken compassion so that he didn't even write me a ticket for any of my legitimate offences!!

As he turns around and pulls past me, he stops. I roll down my window. "It just came up on the computer here...this incident was in 1992. The name on the check was Lori Waggoner."

I swear under my breath. All that drama for a 16 year old check? Surely you jest!

The mystery remains. I'll find time later today to contact the Sheriff's department in Camden County and see if they can give me details on my supposed offence. Seeing as I was married and living in CA at the time, I'm hoping it will be easily resolved.

So, my "Bad Day" hasn't been so very bad afterall...just a little traumatic!