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Caught in a web of truth with nowhere to speed

N othing ruins a good day in which you are loving life, minding your own business, and driving at speeds nearing 85 mph like a speeding ticket. Allow me briefly to set the scene.

It was roughly two o'clock in the afternoon on a brisk December day. I had just dropped off the last of three stunning women I had a brought home with me the night before. (By the way, I believe I'm entitled to a little artistic license in this story). I carefully merged my red Porsche onto Interstate 64 East to return to my spacious three-bedroom homestead, which I refer to as "my parents' house." And as a side note, "red Porsche" is my nickname for my 1989 Volvo station wagon with only one tail light and has an estimated resale value of a used Pauly Shore VHS.

Anyway, using techniques which I won't go into due to their graphic nature, I got my car up to about 83 mph. I was really flying, and then I noticed a police officer behind me who seemed to want me to pull over (he was behind me in his car, not in my back seat). I pulled off to the side of the road and as I waited for the officer to approach, I quickly scanned the interior of my car to see if I had anything in the vehicle that I wouldn't want the cop to see. The only thing that came to mind was my music collection, which I was certain he would at least lecture me about. "Mr. Camp, do I really need to tell you that Limp Bizkit has no musical talent whatsoever? I could have your license suspended for this one CD alone. I'm going to look the other way this time, and I sincerely hope that you'll be able to stay clean from now on. Next time ask yourself if it's really worth it."

Eventually, the officer walked up to my car, and I signaled to him that I didn't want to let the heat out by rolling the window down. He was unsympathetic to the heating difficulties of an '89 Volvo wagon, so I reluctantly did what he asked. He spoke to me in a tone of voice that expressed his desire to thrash me severely with my own tire jack if not for certain police regulations he was pressured to abide by. He said, "Why are you in a rush today, son?" I replied, "Because that's the only way to get away from the cops." From his reaction it was evident that his sense of humor had been surgically removed sometime during his police training.

The next thing he said caught me by surprise. He said (this is true), "Why aren't you wearing your seatbelt today?" I wasn't quite sure how to react to this since I was sitting in my car with my seat belt still fastened. I figured it must be some kind of trick question to see if I was whacked out on drugs. I figured he wanted to see if I would respond, "Because the voices in my nostrils told me that the seat belt was the serpent of death." Then it would be pretty clear that I was under the influence.

I looked down at my fastened seat belt, looked back up at him, and slowly responded, "I think I am wearing my seat belt." He said, "No, why weren't you wearing it when you passed me earlier?" That was about the point that I wasn't sure if I was in a police interrogation or an Abbott and Costello routine. I slowly responded, "I was wearing my seat belt when I passed you. I've been wearing it the entire trip." This answer only angered the officer, and he insisted, "No, son. We do this for a living. We know whether you've been wearing your seat belt or not." I thought to myself, "Apparently not."

It then flashed through my mind that there was no conceivable way I would be able to convince this guy that I had been belted in. I could have explained it to him using a PowerPoint presentation and he still would have thought I was lying. So I started to feel helpless. Of all the things for him to think I was lying about, my seat belt was the most ridiculous. I would have understood if he thought I was lying about the stolen stereo I was listening to or the drugs in the trunk or even the prostitute that was clinging to my muffler pipe, but why the seat belt?!

The officer then said, "I saw you swerve a little when you saw me coming after you, and I know that was because you were trying to put on your seat belt." I responded, "Did you consider that maybe I'm just a bad driver?" The policeman refused to believe I had been wearing my seat belt, and I eventually agreed with him because I didn't want a blood vessel in the man's neck to burst. He then got his speeches confused and lectured me on the reasons one should always keep his or her hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel. He let me off with just a speeding ticket, but he confiscated the prostitute from my muffler pipe.

I have to say that the incident was a learning experience. I learned that crime doesn't pay. Wait, no, I learned that not wearing your seat belt doesn't pay. Wait, I was wearing my seat belt. I know, I learned that telling the truth doesn't pay. Yeah, that's it. If I had just lied from the get-go and said that I had not been wearing my seat belt, the whole ugly situation could have been averted. See, you learn something important everyday.

What it comes down to is that I fought the law and the law won. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking when I told the truth to that police officer. I guess I was just nervous and didn't want to get caught. For all you kiddies out there, learn from my mistake. If you tell the truth once, then you have to keep telling the truth to conceal the first truth. Before you know it, you're wrapped up in a web of truth. I've seen it a thousand times.

N othing ruins a good day in which you are loving life, minding your own business, and driving at speeds nearing 85 mph like a speeding ticket. Allow me briefly to set the scene.

It was roughly two o'clock in the afternoon on a brisk December day. I had just dropped off the last of three stunning women I had a brought home with me the night before. (By the way, I believe I'm entitled to a little artistic license in this story). I carefully merged my red Porsche onto Interstate 64 East to return to my spacious three-bedroom homestead, which I refer to as "my parents' house." And as a side note, "red Porsche" is my nickname for my 1989 Volvo station wagon with only one tail light and has an estimated resale value of a used Pauly Shore VHS.

Anyway, using techniques which I won't go into due to their graphic nature, I got my car up to about 83 mph. I was really flying, and then I noticed a police officer behind me who seemed to want me to pull over (he was behind me in his car, not in my back seat). I pulled off to the side of the road and as I waited for the officer to approach, I quickly scanned the interior of my car to see if I had anything in the vehicle that I wouldn't want the cop to see. The only thing that came to mind was my music collection, which I was certain he would at least lecture me about. "Mr. Camp, do I really need to tell you that Limp Bizkit has no musical talent whatsoever? I could have your license suspended for this one CD alone. I'm going to look the other way this time, and I sincerely hope that you'll be able to stay clean from now on. Next time ask yourself if it's really worth it."

Eventually, the officer walked up to my car, and I signaled to him that I didn't want to let the heat out by rolling the window down. He was unsympathetic to the heating difficulties of an '89 Volvo wagon, so I reluctantly did what he asked. He spoke to me in a tone of voice that expressed his desire to thrash me severely with my own tire jack if not for certain police regulations he was pressured to abide by. He said, "Why are you in a rush today, son?" I replied, "Because that's the only way to get away from the cops." From his reaction it was evident that his sense of humor had been surgically removed sometime during his police training.

The next thing he said caught me by surprise. He said (this is true), "Why aren't you wearing your seatbelt today?" I wasn't quite sure how to react to this since I was sitting in my car with my seat belt still fastened. I figured it must be some kind of trick question to see if I was whacked out on drugs. I figured he wanted to see if I would respond, "Because the voices in my nostrils told me that the seat belt was the serpent of death." Then it would be pretty clear that I was under the influence.

I looked down at my fastened seat belt, looked back up at him, and slowly responded, "I think I am wearing my seat belt." He said, "No, why weren't you wearing it when you passed me earlier?" That was about the point that I wasn't sure if I was in a police interrogation or an Abbott and Costello routine. I slowly responded, "I was wearing my seat belt when I passed you. I've been wearing it the entire trip." This answer only angered the officer, and he insisted, "No, son. We do this for a living. We know whether you've been wearing your seat belt or not." I thought to myself, "Apparently not."

It then flashed through my mind that there was no conceivable way I would be able to convince this guy that I had been belted in. I could have explained it to him using a PowerPoint presentation and he still would have thought I was lying. So I started to feel helpless. Of all the things for him to think I was lying about, my seat belt was the most ridiculous. I would have understood if he thought I was lying about the stolen stereo I was listening to or the drugs in the trunk or even the prostitute that was clinging to my muffler pipe, but why the seat belt?!

The officer then said, "I saw you swerve a little when you saw me coming after you, and I know that was because you were trying to put on your seat belt." I responded, "Did you consider that maybe I'm just a bad driver?" The policeman refused to believe I had been wearing my seat belt, and I eventually agreed with him because I didn't want a blood vessel in the man's neck to burst. He then got his speeches confused and lectured me on the reasons one should always keep his or her hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel. He let me off with just a speeding ticket, but he confiscated the prostitute from my muffler pipe.

I have to say that the incident was a learning experience. I learned that crime doesn't pay. Wait, no, I learned that not wearing your seat belt doesn't pay. Wait, I was wearing my seat belt. I know, I learned that telling the truth doesn't pay. Yeah, that's it. If I had just lied from the get-go and said that I had not been wearing my seat belt, the whole ugly situation could have been averted. See, you learn something important everyday.

What it comes down to is that I fought the law and the law won. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking when I told the truth to that police officer. I guess I was just nervous and didn't want to get caught. For all you kiddies out there, learn from my mistake. If you tell the truth once, then you have to keep telling the truth to conceal the first truth. Before you know it, you're wrapped up in a web of truth. I've seen it a thousand times.

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