Things that piss me the HELL off

I don’t hate the police.  I hate police cars.  Today, I had to drive to Frostburg for my stepsister’s college graduation.  I was running on two hours of sleep.  I had an empty stomach (save for a Slurpee and two No-Doz), and I felt so sick.  I had the Hiccups of Death (the Hiccups of Death will be thing #5), my stomach was upside-down, and my head hurt.  I was 20 minutes outside of Frostburg, and I just wanted to get there so I could run to the bathroom and make myself throw up (this will be explained when I complain about the Hiccups of Death).  I was in the left lane behind some guy in a puke-green Taurus wagon with a Baby on Board sign in the rear window.  Now, I tend to drive pretty fast.  Especially on the highway.  Especially when I’ve gone all morning without seeing a single cop car.  I decided to pass said Taurus, because I don’t like being around slow people.  I dropped into fourth and floored it.  When I’m driving on the highway, I treat every other car like a semi, i.e. I try to stay away from them in case they do something unexpected.  So, I tried to get around Mr. Taurus Dad as fast as possible.  I just think it’s safer that way.  I got back in the left lane, and everyone around me is hitting the brakes hard, and there’s a state trooper pulling up out of his For Authorized and Emergency Use Only to come ruin my day.  He said he clocked me at 99.  My speedometer didn’t go above 90, but you can’t argue with radar.  Ok.  Sure.  I was going really fast, but I just had the bad luck to try and pass someone in a speed trap.  $290, 5 points on my license.  For a first offense.  Bullshit.

Of course, there’s the standard complaint about all this:  What about all those other people going the same speed as me that slammed on the brakes before they got to the hidey hole?  Isn’t that more dangerous than gradually slowing down, like I did after I got back in the left?  Who gives a shit about them, I’m the one who got pulled over.  They’re free to go off and do the same thing again next time they see cops.

Speed limits on the highway piss me off.  What’s going to happen, am I going to automatically lose control of my car and swerve into a busful of babies and puppies the second I hit 66?  I know that more speed means less time to react to changes on the road, but that’s why I pass people so fast:  If there aren’t any cars around me to change the conditions on the road, then there isn’t much to worry about, is there?  I don’t weave in and out of traffic, I always use my signals, I don’t cut people off (on purpose, everyone makes mistakes sometimes, and for me, it’s usually not on the highway), and I try not to do anything else that might endanger other people.  My reasoning is this:  I love my car, why would I do something that might wreck it?  Ugh.

By the time I got to Frostburg, my chest felt like it was going to explode, and I still had to sit through the ceremony.  I barely managed to drive home.  I’m going to contest this, but if I get some asshole judge who decides to make an example of me, I’m fucked for the next few years, all because I didn’t want to be anywhere near a slow-moving wagon on the highway and decided to get away from it as fast as possible.