Yesterday, my daughter and I drove from Seattle to the Long Beach Peninsula. Without traffic, this takes a little over 3 hours. The trip took us more than 5 hours. We left Seattle at a bad time of day and there were extra cars on the road with the Seattle Public Schools starting and Labor Day weekend ending (Oh, plus there was a car on fire in the northbound lanes…). It took over 45 minutes to get from North Seattle to downtown Seattle, where the I-5 HOV lanes begin. Once we finally started moving, a State Patrol cruiser cut in front of me, requiring me to slam on my breaks, and remained in front of me for the next 35 miles or so. When he finally moved right, to exit in South Tacoma, I was able to see that he was alone in his car, sipping a can of soda and just beboppin’ along to some tunes. Now, I know some people don’t feel it’s right to use the carpool lane when one of the passengers in the car is a child but I am not one of those people. She’s a person, it’s legal, end of story. I am, however a person who feels strongly that officers of the law should not abuse their power. Carpool lane abuse? Big deal. But we all know that this is just the tip of the iceberg. I, for one, have not forgotten the scandal involving the bear bumper stickers…
Many miles later, on a sparsely populated stretch of Highway 8, I was still pondering this injustice. I had memorized the naughty cop’s license plate number and was thinking about whether or not to report his sorry ass. And if so, to whom? And would that just put me on some sort of a watch list of people to pull over more often? Who needs that? Maybe I’m paranoid. Maybe it’s partly because my mother convinced me during college that the near-daily parking tickets I received (and promptly stuck in my glove box to pay if I ever won the lottery) would likely result in imprisonment and full body cavity searches. Laughing at my mom and wondering if I ever did pay those tickets (?!?!), I spotted a sign nailed to a tree. It was at the entrance of what appeared to be a trailer park. On a huge piece of plywood, scrawled in black spray paint, were the words: “CRIME WATCH AREA”.
There are definitely two Americas. I think I like the one with plywood signs protecting families better than the one with snot-nosed soda-sippers all alone in the carpool lane, shaving a few minutes off of their commute.
This Human's Condition 