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Published on 07/21/1997 All articles from this issue

Not my day at the beach

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Other Voices

by Cynthia Collier

Flashing red and blue lights appeared in my rearview mirror one night, just after I turned right onto Edith Avenue from San Antonio Road.

"What had I done?" I wondered as I pulled aside, and, "Why did I do it a 100 yards from police headquarters?"

Without a word the officer began to write me up while I humbly looked on. The suspense finally became too much for me.

"Was I going too fast?" I ventured.

"You ran the red light back there," he said a bit incredulously.

I had no recollection of it. I must have stopped. I'm sure I stopped. On the other hand, I could not say I saw a green right arrow before moving on.

In the end he seemed persuaded that my offense was unintentional. Still, he did not fail to leave me with a citation, my ticket to traffic school.

Don't ask me why I expected the class to be populated by sinister, unkempt criminals. In fact, it was largely composed of prompt, tidy, Franklin-Planning-Seven-Habits-looking adults, some surreptitiously toting novels but others with notebooks and pens at attention.

Early on there emerged evidence that the average driver in traffic school has a healthy sense of self-esteem, undisturbed by her or his presence there. Rating our driving skills on a scale of 1 to 5, most of the men scored themselves at 4 or 5. Women were a tad more modest, hanging around 3. No 2s or 1s present. Perhaps they send them all to jail instead?

Among my fellow traffic offenders was an older gentleman, one you could picture leading a civilian militia unit. So confident he was in his knowledge of the subject at hand that he requested permission to contradict the professor, as he called him, if necessary. Permission was granted.

But our amiable professor never gave him cause. In fact, over the course of the day, he had the man in the palm of his hand, to the point that he even condescended to seek the professor's counsel. During the drunk-driving section, our self-confident friend even condescended to seek his counsel.

"What's your advice to someone who gets pulled over and thinks his blood alcohol level is over .08?"

The professor slowly looked over at him. "Huh?" he grunted, his mouth hanging open.

I sat there reviewing the many possible answers in my mind. "Pretend you're from a foreign country? Say you're rushing to the hospital for brain surgery? Get the cop with your light saber and shift into hyper space?"

But the teacher was speechless. Several students came to the rescue, speaking simultaneously, "Don't drive!"

In a discussion of sharing the road with armed civilians, the teacher asked, "Anyone ever have an experience with someone pulling a gun in a traffic incident?"

No one volunteered. Then .08 percent raised his hand.

"Would you like to share it with us?"

He paused. "Well, I pulled the gun."

Did I see his neighbors flinch?

We all took more care thereafter and managed to complete the day's work without provoking each other, leaving safely with certificates in hand, points and insurance premiums held to a minimum.

It really makes a long Saturday, this traffic school business. Watch those red right arrows and spend your weekend at the beach instead.

Collier, a mother of three, lives in Los Altos.