Tag: high school

“Thoughtless Driving”

One of the inconveniences of living in a small town is the proximity to airports. In western South Carolina we actually have a choice of six, including tiny Augusta Regional just beyond the nearby Savannah River. But whether Augusta or one of the larger airports hours away on the East Coast, the drive to get there is mostly two-lane blacktop, speeding along and then slowing down through the small towns along the way. Correction. You’re supposed to slow down through the small towns.

Blame it on puzzle apps. My wife and I were just thirty miles into our eastward trek to Charleston International when we hit the pretty-much-forgotten small town of Springfield, SC. The speed limit sign suggested 25 through its residential streets. I chose 38 instead. Okay, I didn’t intentionally choose 38. I simply elected to ignore the laws of little Springfield, in favor of focusing on the puzzles my wife was trying to solve on her iPad. Maybe I missed the speed limit sign, but I did see the spinning blue/red lights on the police car sitting quietly in a church parking lot.

Here’s something all four of my life’s speeding violations have in common. As soon as each of them happened, I pulled over pretty much the moment the cop reached for his lights. My thought process went, “Hey, I’m breaking the law”, followed by “Hey, that cop noticed me breaking the law” and finally, “I think I’ll just pull over immediately and save him or her any further trouble”.

38 mph in a 25; yeah, that’s pretty bad. Totally deserved the ticket. At least it wasn’t another school zone this time. My last two speeding tickets, one in the middle of 1992 and the other around 2013, were earned as I passed by primary schools with loads of children on their playgrounds. Even worse, the 1992 ticket was collected from the driver’s seat of a midlife crisis two-door convertible Alfa Romeo Spider. Bet the cop loved ordering youngish me to traffic school in lieu of the ticket.

Speaking of “in lieu”, my Springfield, SC cop (who had nothing better to do because there’s nothing at all to do in Springfield) gave me a no-brainer choice in settling my flagrant speeding violation. Option 1: Pay the fine as advertised and earn four points against my driver’s license (“Ouch!”) Option 2: Pay an additional 30% on the fine and avoid the points entirely (not-so-“Ouch!”) Maybe Springfield’s not a bad little town after all… even if the ticket mocked my violation with a description of “thoughtless driving”.

Here’s the nice thing about making peace with a speeding violation before the cop even reaches the driver’s side window: you have a pleasant conversation. Officer: Do you know why I pulled you over?  Me: Why yes sir, I do, and here’s my driver’s license and registration. Officer: Okay Mr. David, let me spell out your options here (spells out options).  Me: Why thank you sir, I’ll take Option 2, if you please. Officer: Okay then Mr. David, pay the fine online and enjoy the rest of your day.  Me: And you too, officer!  It was almost as if a friendship was born over a speeding ticket.

I can’t talk about three of my speeding tickets without a mention of the fourth.  I made it through my high school driving years before ever getting pulled over – but just barely. It was on a graduation trip, where my parents loaned me their car and paid for enough gas to get me and a buddy a driving tour of the Western U.S. And right there in the middle of Colorado, streaking up the interstate towards the Rockies, I earned the blue/red lights for the very first time.

I will always remember two things about that first ticket. First, the officer gave me a personal escort to a nearby mailbox so he could watch me mail the check for the violation (no online or credit card option in 1980). Second, I turned to my buddy afterwards and said, “My parents are gonna kill me!”… which wasn’t true at all, but it’s how most teenagers feel after they get a speeding ticket in their parents’ car.

I doff my hat to those who make the effort to plead down a speeding ticket. I also admire those who continue driving after a violation, as if they don’t think the police car in the rear-view mirror intends to pull them over. Me, I embrace the fines for my brushes with the law.  It’s easy to claim accountability when you’ve only had four instances. And for the foreseeable future, I’ll be the most well-behaved driver behind the wheel.  You just won’t find me anywhere near Springfield, SC.

Rumble in the Jungle

Last Friday, a Miami prep school put on a senior prom.  The party included the usual accoutrements: decorated tables surrounding a darkened dance floor, strobe lights sweeping in rhythm to the blaring music, and the students themselves, dressed in never-be-seen-in-again styles and colors.  The theme (there’s always a theme at prom) was “Welcome to the Jungle”, played out through the room’s exotic backdrops and fabricated trees.  Somewhere during the festivities, a pair of fire-eaters put on a show.  And eying everything that moved, from a cage at the edge of the dance floor?  One extremely agitated, very-much-alive, time-for-dinner, full-grown Bengal tiger.

    

I had to watch the video (here) to believe the headline, but yes, snopes.com – true story.  A tiger went to prom.  Judging from the size of the cage and the attitude of the animal, it’s no wonder the authorities were all over this one, from the Florida Fish & Wildlife Commission to PETA.  The students – er, administrators – will “have some ‘splainin’ to do, Lucy”.  For starters, where the heck did Principal Pugh find a Bengal tiger for rent?  And then, did Pugh and his staff really think students would want to see said tiger up close and personal? My date wouldn’t have been impressed as I peed in my tuxedo pants.

Prom wasn’t always this way.  Once upon a time it was entertainment enough to simply go to a high school gathering off high school grounds.  Prom was more about the one time you got to borrow Dad’s fancy car; the one time you could be at one of your town’s finer hotels as a minor; the one time you could stay out past curfew (oops; discovered that last one wasn’t actually true after the fact).  Prom was simply dinner and a dance; 95% perspiration and 100% awkward moments.

I can’t remember how I asked my date to prom.  These days, the asking is an event all of its own.  “Promposals” – as the ladies now expect – are supposed to be “creative, elaborate, and over-the-top” invites.  A Breaking Bad fan convinced Bryan Cranston to film a promposal for his date.  Another guy changed his name and photo in his date’s cell phone, so when he called her, the promposal popped up on the screen.  Yet another had a pizza delivered to his date’s house, with “PROM?” spelled out in pepperoni.  A phone call just isn’t enough to get a “yes” anymore.

Proms go back a long way; well over a hundred years.  Proms were originally deemed “times of firsts”, as in first “adult” social event for a teenager, first time taking the car out after dark, first real dress-up affair, first ride in a limo, first formal photo with a date, and so on.  Today, firsts happen a lot sooner, don’t they?  Maybe that’s why we add tigers and fire-eaters to quicken the pulse.  Or hold our prom in the East Room of the White House, as Susan Ford (daughter of the late President) did alongside her Holton-Arms classmates in 1975.

Photo courtesy of Gerald R. Ford Presidential Library

Here’s a bit of prom trivia: the word is short for promenade.  Promenade means “a stroll or a walk, especially in a public place, as for pleasure or display”.  Makes sense, doesn’t it?  Further, promenade comes from the Latin word prominare, which means “to drive (animals) onward, with shouts”.  With a nod to Miami – makes sense, doesn’t it?

(Note: PROM also stands for “programmable read-only memory”; a form of computing memory where the setting of each bit is locked.  Makes me think of teenage hormones, especially at prom.  Locked/loaded – nothing you can do to change any of the settings.)

Not to rain on this parade – er, promenade – but every time I think of prom I can’t help but think of the movie “Carrie” – the original version of course, with Sissy Spacek.  Still terrifying after all these years (and I can still hear her mother’s haunting scream, “They’re all gonna laugh at you!!!”).  At least now I’ll just have nightmares about hungry tigers.