Stop streets

It’s been a while, I agree; it seems that my extra and ordinary life has turned into a rather ordinary one.

At 55, I am middle-aged.

The adult children have left home, and now I have a new thing. Spare time.

Spare time is not good; spare time kills inspiration and gives you too much time to think.

But just the other day, I remembered a story.

It’s about a policeman who once stopped me driving down our local country road. A straight, long country road with many stop streets. A road I use at least three or four times a day. Taking children to school, returning home. To the shops, to the gym, up and down for extra murals. Back and forth. Accelerate, slow down, accelerate, pull away. Up a gear, down a gear, brake, slow, stop.

I drive this road so often that I can do it with my eyes closed. We have no traffic lights, just stop streets.

At this moment in time, I’m a responsible mother. Gone are the days of late teenage rebellion. I am a law-abiding citizen, and I lead by example.  

So, when a policeman walks into the road to slow me down and gestures for me to stop, I am shocked. What could he possibly want from me?

I indicate to pull over.

Nothing to feel guilty about, Sally. Not a chance you have broken the law. You’re a mother and a wife, remember? You do everything by the book.

I stop on the side of the road. I keep the engine running for the coolness factor (well, aircon). I’m mildly irritated, but also feeling important because I have my newest wraparound Prada sunglasses on.

Prada sunglasses

I look straight ahead.

I’m actually planning what I’m going to say. Yes, sir? Driver’s license? Car registration disc? Anything else? All paperwork is in order, no fines because mother/wife/responsible.  

The traffic policeman makes his way over to me.

At this point, I remember the rules of the road, so I ensure both hands are on the steering wheel and my seatbelt is on (of course). Hand brake up, gear in neutral.

I shall not be intimidated by the law.

The policeman arrives at the car, he bends over, and leans in.

Good morning, ma’am.

Good morning, I say in my best English. Looking proper, important, sophisticated.

Are you aware of the stop street, ma’am he says.

Yes, of course, I say.

Are you aware you did not stop at the stop street ma’am.

Sorry?

Are you aware you did not stop at the stop street, ma’am.

But I did, I say, and my voice falters. Lying has never been one of my fortes, and slowly it starts to dawn on me why he might have pulled me over.

I’ve got into a bad habit on this road that I drive on every day.

So many stop streets, too many.

As I approach, I look left, right and left again, and if the coast is clear and no cars are coming, I glide on past. Easiest thing in the world when you’re making your way down a 5km road of stop streets.

Not looking so much like a responsible mother of 3.

Ma’am, many people ride their horses along this road. We are getting complaints of speeding, ma’am.

Can I humour him, I’m thinking. Hell, let’s give it a go.

So, I change my tack (pardon the pun).

I know, I say, I’ve a horse myself (not true), I ride this road all the time, people drive way too fast.

He looks at me, I look at him. There’s silence for a moment.

Go on, sir. Give this girl a break, I’m thinking. It was a glide, yes, maybe not a grind to a halt, STOP. But look at me, I’m a responsible mother/wife, and I’m just going about my daily business.

Plus, I can sympathise, I’m a horse rider myself.

When did I get so good?

Ma’am you didn’t stop at the stop street, he repeats.

For a split second, I think I have gotten away with it. My tongue-in-cheek humour might have worked.  But no, he’s a hard nut to crack.

I’m heading for a fine. Dammit.

He leaves briefly and returns with an A4-size notepad.

No… I’m not giving up just yet. I try another approach.

What’s that, I say.

A traffic fine, ma’am.

I think you’ll find that I did stop at the stop street, I reply.

You’re treading a fine line, Sally.

He’s writing in block capitals; he’s not going to be charmed or humoured. He, too, takes his job seriously. He’s part of the traffic police, and he’s here to ensure people obey the rules of the road at all times.

Irritating.

I have this urge to say to him, c’mon, why so serious? Does this little break in the law warrant such a hefty fine? Let the girl off, make her day, make your day, she might just put a smile on your face.

But a sense of maturity has crept in, and I have learnt to know when to stop.

Some people don’t find you quite as funny, Sally.

Words repeated to me growing up.

And with that, I resign myself to the fine. I go silent, my cheekiness dissipates, I watch the policeman go about his duties. A form to be filled out, a fine to pay.

Some you win, some you lose.

Always worth a try though.