About a month ago I transferred the ownership of my car from my brother’s name to my own. I have had the car since 2006, but for some reason never got around to changing the title to my name. Recently, for various reasons, mostly involving three parking tickets at BSU and *ahem* an academic hold on my brother’s account preventing him from registering for classes, it became necessary that I stop procrastinating on the issue.
So, off to the DMV I went. I transferred the title, got shiny new license plates, and renewed my expired registration. All was well, except that I still neglected to actually put the new plates on my car. This was due entirely to sheer negligence and laziness. Once, I even went out to the car with a phillips screwdriver, only to discover I needed a flathead, went back inside, spent approximately 2 seconds looking for another screwdriver, and said SCREW IT and went back to driving like a grandma knitting an afghan, except with a little more environmental awareness and a whole lot more road rage.
Tonight, I was in Meridian driving back from a friend’s house when I noticed that the car behind me was following too closely. My normal response to this is to brake suddenly and then speed up, causing the tailgater’s frontal lobe region to light up with OH MY GOD CRAZY WOMAN DRIVER warning lights, and usually they’ll back off. Thankfully, despite it being so dark out that I couldn’t tell what kind of car was behind me, I had a sinking suspicion it was a cop. My premonition (that’s right, I’m a soothsayer) was confirmed when flashing lights blinded me through my mirrors. I pulled over to the side of the road, put my hands on the wheel (always do this, kids, ALWAYS. Unless you want to get shot, then don’t bother) and immediately began to think lie or tell the truth, lie or tell the truth.
I opted for the latter (mostly), with a heavy dose of “look at me, I’m blonde and I have boobs. TWO BOOBS OFFICER!” thrown in for good measure. That’s right, I played dumb.
Him: I pulled you over because your license plates are expired since October
Me: Uh, right. I have the license plates right here in my back seat
Him: Hmm, I see.
Me: I just didn’t know how to switch out the old plates! I tried and couldn’t! *puppy dog eyes*
It’s almost shameful, and I would be ashamed, except it worked. He spent a few minutes explaining to me how to replace the plates (”all you have to do is unscrew the old ones and put in the new ones”) before sending me on my way.
What did I learn from this? First off, that I only, ever learn the hard way, and secondly, that sometimes I really like being a girl, because, really, how many guys can smile at a cop and tell them they “just don’t know how” to unscrew an old license plate?
One last thing: “screw” is a fabulous word. Better, in some ways than “fuck,” if only because it has a legitimately non-vulgar meaning in addition to its slang connotation.
