During my lunch hour I was driving like the Bandit and blew past a Jeffco Sheriff going 20 over the posted speed limit. I heard sirens, looked in the rear view mirror, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach like a Rollie Fingers slider as police lights were practically up my tail pipe. I pulled over and the Jeffco Sheriff walked over to the Ghost of War and motioned for me to roll down the window.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” I said, trying my best to sound like an innocent little girl holding a bunny rabbit and a stick of cotton candy.
“You were going pretty fast back there. I am going to need your license and registration.”
“Oh. Okay.” I replied, and began fumbling around in my glove box.

He gazed into my eyes and I sensed his bullshit detector jumping like Irish people in a House of Pain video. Without saying a word, he sauntered back to his vehicle and left me assuming that he would return with a speeding ticket and some KY Jelly in order to ass-fuck the fine out of me. Instead, he gave me a warning, handed me back my information, slipped me his card and sent me on my way. Good times, Deputy Pierce, good times.