A Short Story Illustrating Something Ironic that Will Be Discussed More in a Later Post

Normally it takes more than 15 minutes to get there. You have only 10 minutes before it starts, though, and you're just now pulling out of the driveway. You hit the gas. It's early, so hopefully no one will be on the roads.

I didn't make this picture--and it's only vaguely
relevant--but it is pretty awesome.

You're making good time, and the speedometer proves it. Things are going well--until you see the red and blue flashing lights in the rear-view mirror. You cringed, and your eyes dart down at the speedometer. Then your heart sinks. You hit the breaks and exhale, then you pull over, turn your car off, and roll down your window. You lean your head on your thumb and forefinger and stare blankly at the wheel. The cop's feet crunch against the gravel as he approaches.

You give him your license and registration when he asks for it, then hear the gravel crunching again as he walks back to his car. You look at the clock. Six minutes. Maybe he'll just make it quick so you can get out of here. You hear the crunching.

"I noticed you were going 30 over," he says in a serious, matter-of-fact tone. You take a deep breath and say nothing.

"Well," he breaks the silence, "I'd like to congratulate you." A frown. Congratulate? Is he being sarcastic? "I'd like to congratulate you because you could have been going 50 over, but you were only going 30 over. Not only that, but when I turned my lights on, you slowed down, turned your blinker on, and pulled over, when you could have hit the gas and started a high-speed chase."

Wonder. Straighter posture, just a bit. What was he saying?

"You're wearing your seat belt, and--oh," he hands you back your license and registration, "your car is registered. You're also driving with a valid licence."

Now you turn your head and make eye contact, trying to put no expression on your face.

"And one more thing. I noticed that you were driving in your own lane the entire time." You blink. He smiles--genuinely--and says, "So congratulations, sir. Driving in your own lane, wearing your seat belt, driving a registered car, having a valid driver's licence, and only going 30 over instead of 50 over? Well, I'm going to let you go."

"Really?" He could still playing some sarcastic game.

"Of course. You made the safer choice." He walks away. You reach up with your right hand and turn the key.