![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
framlingem.
My friend M and I were planning on going out to breakfast and then to the Fine Arts museum today, as she has never been to any of the Montreal museums despite having lived here for more than twenty years. (We agree that this is a sad thing and are working on remedying it) This required meeting at her house at about 8:30.
Now, I usually drive to her house in the evening or afternoon, because that's when we tend to do things. There is a lane on my route which is reserved for buses between 5:30 and 9:30 in the mornings. I knew this. I did not, however, realise that it was a bus lane all the way back to the ten, as it is only signed from the intersection. So I'm puttering along, wondering at all the traffic in the other lane and thinking "man, I wonder why nobody else is turning left at the lights? How odd," and I reach the lights, and lo! On the other side of the intersection are two police cars and six civvy cars, and a nice man in a blue suit is asking me to roll my window down.
"You're in a bus lane, madame," he says to me, and I think, wha- oh. Crap. "When I wave at you, drive across the intersection, and the officers over there will talk to you."
So I do. Last thing I want to do is start a car-chase. (Well, actually, that would be pretty cool. The real last thing I want to do is suffer the consequences of having started a car chase.) So I putter along to the other side of the intersection, park, think man, I'm gonna be late, idiot, damn damn damn, and dig my license out of my pocket and try to find the car registration papers in the glove compartment.
Sorry officer, I don't usually drive along here in the mornings and I screwed up.
Yes, officer.
No, officer.
You look very nice in that uniform, officer. (I didn't say that, of course, because I'm not stupid, but he did look nice.)
He lookes at my driver's license, and says "Newfoundland, eh?" (Well, Terre-Neuve, hien?) "How long are you here for?"
"Until the end of the summer."
"Ok. Normally since you're a non-resident, I'd have to ask you to pay your ticket immediately, but since you're around 'til the end of the summer I'll just put your parents' address" (that's who the car is registered to) "and you'll have a month. I'm also going to charge you municipally, which means $30 instead of $150. OK?"
Yes, fine, officer. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.
I wonder how often police officers get told in a non-sarcastic way to have a nice day by someone they've just given a ticket to?
My friend M and I were planning on going out to breakfast and then to the Fine Arts museum today, as she has never been to any of the Montreal museums despite having lived here for more than twenty years. (We agree that this is a sad thing and are working on remedying it) This required meeting at her house at about 8:30.
Now, I usually drive to her house in the evening or afternoon, because that's when we tend to do things. There is a lane on my route which is reserved for buses between 5:30 and 9:30 in the mornings. I knew this. I did not, however, realise that it was a bus lane all the way back to the ten, as it is only signed from the intersection. So I'm puttering along, wondering at all the traffic in the other lane and thinking "man, I wonder why nobody else is turning left at the lights? How odd," and I reach the lights, and lo! On the other side of the intersection are two police cars and six civvy cars, and a nice man in a blue suit is asking me to roll my window down.
"You're in a bus lane, madame," he says to me, and I think, wha- oh. Crap. "When I wave at you, drive across the intersection, and the officers over there will talk to you."
So I do. Last thing I want to do is start a car-chase. (Well, actually, that would be pretty cool. The real last thing I want to do is suffer the consequences of having started a car chase.) So I putter along to the other side of the intersection, park, think man, I'm gonna be late, idiot, damn damn damn, and dig my license out of my pocket and try to find the car registration papers in the glove compartment.
Sorry officer, I don't usually drive along here in the mornings and I screwed up.
Yes, officer.
No, officer.
You look very nice in that uniform, officer. (I didn't say that, of course, because I'm not stupid, but he did look nice.)
He lookes at my driver's license, and says "Newfoundland, eh?" (Well, Terre-Neuve, hien?) "How long are you here for?"
"Until the end of the summer."
"Ok. Normally since you're a non-resident, I'd have to ask you to pay your ticket immediately, but since you're around 'til the end of the summer I'll just put your parents' address" (that's who the car is registered to) "and you'll have a month. I'm also going to charge you municipally, which means $30 instead of $150. OK?"
Yes, fine, officer. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.
I wonder how often police officers get told in a non-sarcastic way to have a nice day by someone they've just given a ticket to?
