Devonne Brown

“Thank you, Ms. Parsons.” I handed the officer my drivers’ license and registration as the window rolled down. I swear I came to a full stop at the stop sign.

He read my name from the license and smiled at me. I wondered if he thought I looked like a criminal. My black car was dirty, hadn’t been washed or swept out in the two years I’d had it. I hadn’t dumped the diet coke cans for a while. The recycled diet coke box overflowed empties, crushed ones filled the passenger floor.

The back seat was covered in mud and dog prints. An odd assortment of junk, a hammer, muddy boots, a giant umbrella with dog prints, and another trash bag of diet coke cans.

I drove home and thought about my near ticket experience and the folks that drive the same road as me.

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What did the mud on the boots in the floor of the back seat mean? Had I been somewhere I shouldn’t? Had I buried a body?

Everything in that car made me look guilty of something. I saw the cop look inside. 

I’m a sixty-three year old lady in the middle of nowhere stopped by a cop. Do I have the right to a twinge of fear? If I let the cop think I’m scared he’ll think I did something. I went over everything in my head. What did I do wrong? My paperwork was all good.

“You have a rear tail light out, ma’am.” 

What? Who knew they had a tail light out unless someone told them? Unless someone was looking for it? I thought about car insurance and court costs. A moving violation might be a fifteen percent increase in car insurance payments at least, cancellation at worst. The police department must’ve been doing fundraising if they were ticketing folks for having a tail light out at a stop sign.

I held my breath and my stomach knotted. The cop wrote something on a notepad, it was very intimidating. I wanted to cry. 

“Get that taken care of as soon as you can ma’am. Have a good day.” said the officer. He handed me my paperwork, tipped his hat and got back in his police cruiser. He turned the blue lights off as soon as he pulled onto the road and disappeared. I breathed again.

I drove home and thought about my near ticket experience and the folks that drive the same road as me. A college friend and I have bachelor’s degrees from the same Methodist college, and we both have masters degrees. He went on to seminary and became a minister and I became a teacher.  He was always the better student, better writer, better thinker. He earned his Doctor of Philosophy degree. He was driven to be a leader of people, a man of God. Would he have gotten a ticket or a warning?

I was terrified by that traffic stop because I have an irrational guilt complex.  He would be afraid of that traffic stop because, if his car looked like mine, the cops may have torn it apart. Good people just do not drive cars as nasty as mine. His car was immaculate. 

That quaint traffic experience for me may have had a much different outcome for my sixty-five year old, six foot-four friend. He looks intimidating.  How likely are you to get a warning? I’m a sixty-three year old white haired lady, invisibile in most cases. I’m grateful for the warning, but hope that all folks with bad tail lights get a warning at stop signs instead of tickets.