Road Trip Lesson Number Two: My Manhood Costs $197
Before My Lady and I set out on our cross-country road trip, I expressed trepidation about the Texas police that I might encounter along the way. I wondered if we would make it out of Texas with all our limbs in tact. But as you might guess, the worries I expressed were my glib attempt at humor. I never figured that I would actually come face to face with the Texas State Patrol. Silly me.
On the final stretch of Interstate 10 before El Paso and the New Mexico border, I took my turn behind the wheel. We had been driving for more than 10 hours (Texas is a big state), so I was eager to stop for the night and find a hotel. I drove with the anticipation that marks the last leg of any journey. The day's end was in sight. Maybe that's why I was driving 95 miles per hour in a 70 mph zone. Or maybe not.
Speeding is a macho thing for me. It's about reaching my destination faster than any man ever has and then bragging about it. It's the satisfying feeling that comes with zooming past car after car on the highway. And then there's the purely phyical sensation in the pit of the stomach from going really, really fast. My manhood heightens with each white line, telephone pole, each highway exit that I whiz past -- until, of course, I whiz by the Texas State Patrol.
He came out of nowhere. I looked in my rear view mirror and he was just there, poof, like a white ghost in the night. I looked at My Lady. "He got me, baby."
"What?" She followed my gaze and looked over her shoulder out the back window. The sqaud car's lights weren't flashing and the siren hadn't sounded. "I don't think so. Relax"
"Nah, he got me." A man knows. Just then the lights flashed. I drove to the shoulder of the highway. There was a time when getting pulled over would have instantly replaced any feelings of machismo with deference, but, for whatever reason, I've grown more defiant over the past few months.
The cop approached the passenger window and asked for my license and registration. I quickly produced both documents.
"Why were you going so fast," he asked.
"Officer, I didn't realize. I was just enjoying the open road." He smiled. I smiled back.
"Where you guys going," he asked.
"California."
He walked back to his squad car, checked my information in the system and, I'm guessing, found that I am the most upstanding, law abiding black man there ever was. Still he came back with a citation.
"Here you go, sir. The judge's name is Ms. Jock. Call her to discuss your case."
"Okay. How much is the ticket?"
"It's $197."
My Lady offered to split the cost with me, and I quickly turned down her offer. "I was speeding. It's my ticket. You wouldn't have been driving that fast."
"Probably not."
"So I'll pay for it."
But she wouldn't let up. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, I relented. My manhood cost $197 and My Lady paid for half of it.
On the final stretch of Interstate 10 before El Paso and the New Mexico border, I took my turn behind the wheel. We had been driving for more than 10 hours (Texas is a big state), so I was eager to stop for the night and find a hotel. I drove with the anticipation that marks the last leg of any journey. The day's end was in sight. Maybe that's why I was driving 95 miles per hour in a 70 mph zone. Or maybe not.
Speeding is a macho thing for me. It's about reaching my destination faster than any man ever has and then bragging about it. It's the satisfying feeling that comes with zooming past car after car on the highway. And then there's the purely phyical sensation in the pit of the stomach from going really, really fast. My manhood heightens with each white line, telephone pole, each highway exit that I whiz past -- until, of course, I whiz by the Texas State Patrol.
He came out of nowhere. I looked in my rear view mirror and he was just there, poof, like a white ghost in the night. I looked at My Lady. "He got me, baby."
"What?" She followed my gaze and looked over her shoulder out the back window. The sqaud car's lights weren't flashing and the siren hadn't sounded. "I don't think so. Relax"
"Nah, he got me." A man knows. Just then the lights flashed. I drove to the shoulder of the highway. There was a time when getting pulled over would have instantly replaced any feelings of machismo with deference, but, for whatever reason, I've grown more defiant over the past few months.
The cop approached the passenger window and asked for my license and registration. I quickly produced both documents.
"Why were you going so fast," he asked.
"Officer, I didn't realize. I was just enjoying the open road." He smiled. I smiled back.
"Where you guys going," he asked.
"California."
He walked back to his squad car, checked my information in the system and, I'm guessing, found that I am the most upstanding, law abiding black man there ever was. Still he came back with a citation.
"Here you go, sir. The judge's name is Ms. Jock. Call her to discuss your case."
"Okay. How much is the ticket?"
"It's $197."
My Lady offered to split the cost with me, and I quickly turned down her offer. "I was speeding. It's my ticket. You wouldn't have been driving that fast."
"Probably not."
"So I'll pay for it."
But she wouldn't let up. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, I relented. My manhood cost $197 and My Lady paid for half of it.
posted by The Quintessential Negro at 11:42 PM
5 Comments:
How can this be a post about your manhood when you let Piu Piu pay for half the ticket?
I just realized that Piu Piu isn't your lady, it's Kim Plaintive. oops.
Same point though... how can you be talking about manhood and then let your lady pay the price? She's a student too...
Piu Piu, what have you been telling people?
Freakinrican, thanks for the math lesson. To answer your question, he was white, but he was the friendliest white cop that's ever stopped me.
Hey QT :)
I just wanted to say that I really love your new look! Your orange shirt and pink Haiwaiin thingy goes really well with your sexy red lips and chocolate brown skin. And I don't know if anyone else can see it, but you have that cute little yellow lace trip on your hat. You are just too fine, QT!
....bye...
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