Sorry for being lame and quiet 'n' all. I'm here, at work (at 12:30 a.m.) on election night, which should mark the apex of my lameness.
Meaning tomorrow, I should be un-lame, right? Here's hoping.
A quick story:
OK, so a good portion of my night tonight was spent waiting -- SO MUCH WAITING! -- for elected officials to climb out of their fancy hotel rooms and into the fancy hotel ballroom to celebrate being reelected. I was supposed to leave, to return to work and write my story, by 9:30 p.m. By about 9:15 p.m., I started getting nervous, and began pestering every city staffer I knew to see if they would help me connect with my office-seekers.
No dice.
They finally showed their faces at 10 p.m., said a few things about a city full of optimism and such, thanked a laundry list of supporters, etc. Meanwhile, it was 10:30 p.m. Shit.
I had to get out of there.
So, I busted ass, ran to the parking garage, got my car out and sped down the city streets, going nearly 50 mph in a 35 mph zone. At a certain point, as I zoomed under traffic light as it turned red, I began to think I should maybe slow down.
At almost the exact moment that thought made its way through my caffeine- and carb-addled mind, I noticed a car stopped at the light I was approaching. More precisely, I noticed the police car stopped at the light I was approaching.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I slowly pulled up alongside the car. A light flashed in my peripheral vision. It was the driver, trying to get my attention. He motioned for me to roll down my window. I did it.
"Are your headlights on?" he asked.
Uhhh ... Happily, they were, at least according to my dashboard.
"Yep, they should be -- do I have a headlight out?" I asked.
The lights were on, but looked dim, he said. That's probably because I have a cheap Korean car, I replied.
To that, he made a confused sidelong look at me and his fellow officer, and then, as the light changed, let me go.
Whew.
The end.
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1 comment:
1. Namedrop Andy if you have another run-in with the law. I don't know if it would help, but I don't think it would hurt.
2. Poor doggie! I hope he's feeling better. The cones (and butt surgery, I imagine) are never fun.
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