Thursday, September 22, 2011

Where are you going?

Where are you going?  Where you headed?  Why you driving so fast?

These are questions that friendly neighborhood (fun-hating!) police officers ask when they catch you speeding, flip on the cherries, make a u-turn like MacGyver, then follow you 'til you pull over.  Not that this has happened recently.

Okay, you got me.  It happened this morning.

A friendly neighborhood (fun-hating!) police officer pulled me over, and before I could hand him the license, he said, "Where you headed?"  He was smiling.  And he had some nice teeth.  My first thought was to butter him up with a "wow them are some nice teeth" comment then bat the lashes all violent-like so as to produce some tears.    But then I realized from past experience that this has never worked.  I also realized that I have yet to be pulled over and let loose like in the fairy tales.  "You go on ma'am.  Today is just a warning.  You just slow down now, you hear?"

That's right, I said "fairy tales."  People aren't let loose with warnings.  Unless of course you're a cop relation, carrying donuts, or Richard Matheson.

"Where you headed," he said.  (Notice the missing question mark.)

"Well," I said.  "It all began yesterday when I decided we were having Fish Tacos for dinner.  I was out of my Signature Secret Sauce, and needed to make some.  Now this was a problem for dinner, because the Secret Sauce needs to sit and simmer so as the savory seasoningss can blend properly.  The fish was thawed and ready  – tillapia if you must know, halibut is just so pricey these days – but the sauce was nowhere near ready.  

"When Spouse arrived home," I continued, "he took one look at my lazy butt on the couch and hollered, 'Woman! Where's my Secret Sauce?' and I was all, 'Dude.  You know where your Secret Sauce is' (*wink, wink.*)  Now spouse was hungry, he didn't feel up to making some Secret Sauce, so he suggested we go for pizza.  The Yahoos were all over that – Yahoos, that's what I call my kids, they're boys, age 7 and 10, want to see a picture?

"While eating pizza last night, I remembered a conversation we friendly neighborhood (fun-loving!) moms had on the way to school – you'll like this part, it's about donuts.  I told them all that I had been craving this heavenly buttermilk biscuit from a donut joint in Portland.  That joint is called Voodoo Donuts.  Have you heard of it?  No?  Oh.  EM. Gee.  You need to go to Portland for one of those buttermilk biscuits.  Sorry, back to the story – one of the friendly neighborhood (fun-loving!) moms said something about a buttermilk bar at a bakery in Provo called Provo Bakery.  

"Anyways, in between a slice of barbecue chicken and a slice of three-cheese, I told Spouse about Provo Bakery's buttermilk biscuit.  He was all over getting his mouth on one of those, (as was I, but don't tell anyone.)  Just then I remembered that I was taking my mom Summy to her physical therapy the next morning.  I could totally drop her off and go to the bakery for donuts.  Spouse said, 'Yeah.  Do that.'

"That was the plan.  I rose early, got the Yahoos ready and sent them to school.  Then I drove to get on the freeway, only to discover that the danged freeway on-ramp was closed AGAIN, and what is up with the construction?  It's really gonna cause someone to snap one of these days, don't you think?  So, the overpass was closed, for heaven knows how long, and that's when I discovered I had to go around, which generally adds AT LEAST 10 minutes to my commute.  

"I turned left all mad-like, just before the on-ramp and whipped around the corner.  While whipping around the corner, I thought 'What if I get all the way to the Provo Bakery and they are clean-out of buttermilk bars?  That can't happen!' so I dialed the number on my trusty Apple Telephone Device (complete with voice recognition,) and received a 'Hello, thank you for calling Provo Bakery.'  Bonus! They're still in business.  'Do you still make buttermilk bars?' I inquired, with fingers and toes and everything but legs crossed.  'We sure do!' she replied.  

"And that, Mr. Police Officer with nice teeth, is when I saw you flip on the cherries, make a MacGyver u-turn, and follow me 'til I pulled over.  So, you be real nice, and you let me off without a ticket, and I'll bring you back some of those buttermilk bars.  As many as you like."

That's where I said I was going.

Know where I get to go now?  Traffic school. (But no sooner than 5 days and no later than 14.)



rjmatheson said...

Sure, single me out. Now every cop that reads your blog will be watching for me! I would regale you with many a story of would-be tickets that wound up being warnings, but that would just stir the pot.

rabidrunner said...

Please, please, stir the pot! I like pot that is stirred! (P.S. no one reads this blog. Expecially cops.)

whitneyingram said...

I hate to break it you (but not really), the buttermilk donuts at Provo Bakery smell like real live death. They are terrible. Sorry.

rabidrunner said...

Well. Whitney, I hate to break it to you (but not really), the buttermilk bars were exactly what I was looking for. So I guess I'm up for some real live death.

Robert D. Matthews said...

I read it...and find it incredibly funny!

And Provo Bakery has awesome cinnamon rolls as well...

Julia said...

The only warnings I've EVER received is while driving my trusty minivan with all three kids safely buckled. I think I even got a "nice to see all you're kids are safe and buckled-up." Wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a assault on my driving. But whatever, I took the warning, gratefully.

Sparks said...

Of course you're up for real-life death donuts. You're into cannibalism. A little taste of death just what what you were looking for.

Jenn said...

A) You need to work on your eyelash-batting, as you are cute as a button and should definitely have a longer list of warnings than tickets. I had an 'incident', we'll call it, that started with the copper asking me, "What on earth could possibly make you drive like such a complete a**hole?" Still? Ended with a warning. And 2) Hm. Crap. I forgot what was my 2. Meh. We need to have beers sometime. Hubby was a cop and I have great, donut-filled (as well as filled donut) stories. Oh! My 2! I am stateside, visiting my folks, and have seriously considered driving six hours to visit Dough Daddy's in Lexington KY for a luscious blueberry cream cheese donut. And a haircut. There are no good haircuts in Germany. This message is a bit daft. I claim jet lag. Peace out.

Lynnie said...

Lehi Country Bakery on Main Street has buttermilk bars. They might smell like real live death too but they are delicious and only one town over. Plus! Lehi cops are cool.

rjmatheson said...

Well, okay. Let's stir the pot. There are too many incidents to cover here (6), so let's get down to my favorite. Midnight on 1600 North in front of WordPerfect/Novell (this was a few years ago). I am going back to work to fix a defect before the next build. 75 in a 25. The policeman is coming the other way and I'm caught before I notice him. He pulled me over and we had the following conversation (note that I am always respectful and positive and apologetic in these conversations):
Officer: Where are you going?
Me: Right there (pointing to Bldg A). I have to fix a defect before midnight for our next build. Man, If I'd been a few seconds faster you wouldn't have seen me.
Officer: You were going 75 in a 25. Kind of hard to miss that.
Me: I know, I'm sorry. I was just hurrying.
Officer: Well, I'm going to run your records tonight Mr. Matheson. If nothing comes up you can be on your way.

At this point I'm thrilled because I know nothing is coming up. Yep, let go. I went to work and fixed my bug.

That is the most extreme case. The rest have been 5 mph over, or not stopping long enough or just rolling a stop.

Bet you're mad now...

Truth be told, I did get stopped last year when I really didn't deserve it, and tried to explain that. It just made the officer more determined to write the citation.