Last Friday was a particularly beautiful sunny day. I drove to work, so that I could drive to Capitol Hill that evening to eat at the Polish House with co-workers and friends, rather than have to take the bus. As I drove down Jackson Street in the International District towards work, I noticed there was a police car behind me. I thought nothing of it, since the police routinely patrol the area. I was driving to Airport Way, in search of free parking. It did strike me that the police kept following right behind me as I turned on to different streets, but I had not committed any traffic violations so I was not so worried.
Finally as I got to the area where I usually find free parking, I was disappointed not to find any spaces. As I slowed to a crawl looking more closely for spaces, the lights finally started flashing. Well, it took him long enough. So I slowly pulled over to the curb. What could this be about? Had I swerved in the lane? Switched lanes without signaling? That was all I could think of. I rolled down the window and took in the fresh summer breeze. A brawny black gentleman stepped up to my window and got to the point.
“Good morning, sir. I pulled you over because your tags have expired.” My jaw dropped. That certainly could not be. Tags expired? That has never happened before in my twenty years on the road. I was the person who quietly chuckled to myself at the folly of my friends as they relay their experiences of expired tags and exorbitant fines. But now me? There must be some misunderstanding.
“Let me look at my registration.” I must have simply forgotten to put the tag on the license plate. Or perhaps someone had peeled off the tag and put it on their own vehicle. Scoundrels! As I opened my glove compartment and the stack of papers fell out the gravity of the situation became evident. I know it must be here somewhere, ah here it is.
I proudly presented my registration to the officer to prove my innocence. He looked at it and kindly pointed out that it had expired in November 2009. I looked at the previous registrations going back to 2006. They were all there. 2010? No. Aha! I found a Midas receipt dated Oct. 2009. It looked like the emissions reading. I showed this to the officer with slightly less confidence but he did not respond. I looked again at the Midas receipt. Transmission flush.
He requested my insurance card. I resumed the shuffling and pulled out a couple, all of which were expired.
“Ok, I am going to take your word that your insurance is current. I will be back in a couple of minutes.” He took my driver’s license and expired registration and walked back to the police car. Oh but isn’t this the worst part. The waiting. Me sitting in my car. He sitting in his. Cars passing by. Luckily this was Friday morning, so everyone was in a serious tone on their way to work and no one paid me any mind. No smarmy teenagers with their grins and hoots of mock support. Not even the homeless people camped nearby cast a sympathetic glance. Typical pacific northwesterners.
Found it. Current insurance card hiding in the stack. Finally the police officer returned. He must be coming back to tell me that he checked my registration and found that I was current. I was still in denial. “Yes, they’re expired all right. But you look like a nice young man who just forgot, so I am going to give you a fine for expired less that two months. ”Well, talk about my lucky break!
‘You look like a nice young man.’ I knew what he was implying. Despite me there in my snazzy polarized glasses--as I shuffled through the registrations and receipts dating back to the late nineties there was no way I could conceal the fact that I was a bona fide scatterbrain. Nice young man, indeed. Mostly harmless. Drives a 1994 Nissan Sentra that has been t-boned, totaled, the finish is coming off the paint job. Miscellaneous receipts and items strewn around on the seats and in the floor board. He probably does this every year. The kind of guy who would drive off with the baby carrier still on the hood and the dog tied to the fender.
How could I have forgotten? I always pay as soon as I get the renewal in the mail.. A housemate must have gotten it and thrown it away. Or maybe the landlord. He once threw away my rent check.What was I doing in late November? Working overtime. The cat? Maybe. Well now to try and find a parking space. Perhaps I should tidy up the desk a bit when I get to the office and see what I will find.
