yikes, pulled over in the Alfetta!

[DB&KJP <motoduo@domain.elided>]

So, this morning I am doing errands in the mighty Alfetta
and I spot a State Patrol in my rear view mirror.  Uh-oh.
I don't have turn signals cause I don't have bumpers.  And
as I am about to be informed, I don't have one brake light.
Then, I realize that my wallet is at home in yesterday's
pants.  With my license and insurance card.  God, I'm screwed.

Trooper friendly is behind me as I stop at an intersection just
before I turn for the onramp to 509, he follows me onto the
highway and hits the blues.  I pull over and stopped just
across the freeway from Wes Ingram's shop.  I mean, spitting
distance!  That is, if I spit, which I don't.  Anyway, the
exchange went like this:

Trooper:  "May I see your license, insurance, and registration
papers, please?"
Me:  "I just realized that my wallet is at home, sir, I do have
a license and insurance card, just not on me."
T:  "Registration?"
Me:  "Yes, sir, it's right here."
T:  "Are you the registered owner?"
Me:  "Yes, sir."
T:  "Would you step out of the car please?"
Me:  "OK"  (I comply)
T:  "Please turn around and hold your hands out like this."

He's doing this bird thing, I'm thinking how stupid it looks
on him and how stupid it's about to look on me.

Me: "Is this normal?" (referring to being frisked)
T:  "Well, you don't have ID.  Do you have any guns, knives,
or weapons on you today?"

I had to think, I usually carry my little "moto guzzi" knife,
not as a weapon, of course, just because it's handy.

Me:  pause  "um, no"
T:  "any needles, pipes, or drugs?"
Me:  "No" (At this point I would like shrivel up and die of
embarrassment, being frisked the side of the road, like on
COPS, I might as well be barefoot and wearing one of those
wife-beater-undershirts so I fit the lowlife profile... if I
see an Alfa enroute to Wes's shop, I'll croak.)

T:  "Do you know why I pulled you over today?"
Me:  "Well, I have been having some electrical trouble, was
it my turn signals?"
T:  "You have a brakelight out."
Me:  "Really?"
T:  "And no turnsignal."
Me:  "Oh, really?  I know I have been blowing fuses, I wasn't
sure which ones went to what.  I'll have it fixed, I promise"
(Smiling, trying to look helpless, forgive me fellow Alfisti,
I'm such a manipulator)

T:  "Where is the stereo?"
Me:  "It didn't have one when I bought it."  (I refrained from
my typical gearhead response, 'the only sound I like to hear
is the motor'.  No, much too tomboy.)

He is now perusing the interior of my car, which is spotless
except for the envelope containing my bank statement, which
I plucked out of the mailbox and stuck on the passenger seat
as I left the house.

T:  "Is this yours?" (reaching for the bank statement)
Me:  "Yes."

At this point he picks up my bank statement, violating my
constitutionally protected right against illegal search and
seizure.  I keep this to myself, remaining quiet.

T:  "Who's this, your husband?"  Pointing to David's name.
Me:  "Significant other"  (I hate that term.....)
T:  Ok, take a seat in the passenger side of your car and
I'll be with you in a minute.

He takes my registration, and my bank statement, which is
personal and has no bearing on anything, other than reinforcing
that I am who I say I am which could have been done at a
glance.  This is bullshit, I'm thinking, he is just looking
at my bank statement to see how we spend our money and how much
we have.  I stay calm and try not to be too fidgety, 20 minutes
pass, I see him writing something, still writing 5 minutes
later, I'm in deep.  Damn, I hate traffic court, it's a game
and has nothing to do with justice.  Almost a half an hour
later, he comes up to the car.

T:  "OK, Kathy Jo, I'm gonna have you sign this WARNING."
(WARNING!?!  WOOOO HOOOOO!!!  Woo-blinkity-blinkin' hoo!)
"And I am going to check the rest of your lights before I
let you go and I strongly recommend you don't drive it
until you have it fixed."

Have it fixed my ass.  I'm almost offended, don't I look like
I'm capable of turning a screwdriver?  But then I remember,
Oh, yea, I'm a helpless female!

He walks around to the front of my car.

T:  "OK, left tu...hey, where are the turn sig.., WHERE ARE
THE BUMPERS!?!"  He's yelling. "THIS CAR HAS NO BUMPERS!"
He's walking and yelling.  "ON THE BACK, either!?!"  I grin,
and shrug.  "WHERE ARE THEY?"
Me: (lying) "I dunno, it was like this when I bought it."
T:  "You have to get some bumpers on this thing"

He called my car a "thing".  How offensive is that.

Me:  "OK, I will, I promise."
T:  "Alright, now you need to take care of this right away."
Me:  "Thanks, I will."
T:  "Do you have a front plate for this thing?"

That's twice, I'm excercising restraint as I boil inside.

Me:  "Yes."  (I pull it out from under the passenger sit where it
lives because it ruins the angry sporty alfetta's front end looks.)
T:  "Well, put it back on.  How many times have you been pulled
over in this thing?"
Me:  "This thing, sir, is an Alfa Romeo.  It's faults exist purely
as a result of my own negligence, it's not a bad car with notoriously
bad electrical systems, it's not a thing, and to answer your question
I have thankfully never been pulled over in it because it is quite
fast.
T:  "Well, get it fixed!"
Me:  "I will, sir, thank you."

He starts walking away, gets to his car and then starts running
back to my car.  He almost forgot to give me a copy of the warning.

So, all of you who will chastise me for batting my eyes,
playing dumb and getting off easy, save it.  I am a true
tomboy at heart and proud of it.  I work with about 95%
men in a male oriented industry which revolves around tools.
It has taken a long long time to gain the respect of my
customers, co-workers, etc. and I didn't get here by playing
the helpless female.  In fact, it disgusts me when I see women
"play dumb."  As hard as I tried to do it, I still couldn't
help blowing it at the end.  He was becoming tiresome with
his huffing and puffing about bumpers and I figured I was
home free with a warning so I had to say something in
defense of my car.

But, I admit, I played stupid up until that moment. I'm know,
I'm a self-serving hypocrite.

I'm so ashamed...  but with a spotless driving record which eases
the pain.

Kathy Jo

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