The Traffic Stop

 The Thrifty Rocketeer Blog continues...

We've all had that little niggling feeling in the back of our mind, "What would I do if I were stopped by the cops?"

Well, let me tell you about a recent experience.

Once upon a time, I was driving home from a late afternoon/evening rocket launch and listening to a "book-on-tape" while driving.  It was getting late and the sun was setting.

Now, my phone doesn't produce enough volume to be heard while laying on the seat, and I'm missing an audio cable to plug it into my car stereo... so I was holding it up, near but not against my ear.

When suddenly in the gathering gloom, I see red and blue flashing lights in my rear view mirror.



I checked my speedometer and I am relieved that I'm right on the speed limit, not having wandered above nor below at all.  I wonder if he saw my phone in my hand, but then the screen wasn't lit, and I wasn't talking to it...just driving down the expressway.

The phone was turned off and on my lap by the time the cop walked up to my driver's window, which I had lowered.  "What's up," I asked? 

"Nothing too serious," he said. "It's just that your license plate lilghts are out."



It took me about a beat to comprehend what he was saying.  And then I realized this was just an excuse to pull me over and run my plate.

I thought about all those rockets and missiles that I had piled in the back, sticking up at odd ends, clearly visible through the rear windows, if he would but look.  ...Plus the black-powder motors, and everything else I haul along to launches.


"Really," I asked sweetly?

"Sure, you can get out and check for yourself," he suggested.  I did.  I turned off the car, and made sure it was in park.  I stepped out.

I walked behind my car, and he was right... my license plate was dark, not lit, in the gathering gloom.  But more than that, my bumper was hanging at an angle.

"Who the hell hit my car," I wanted to exclaim, but then thought better of it.  I knew who had done it...I had backed into a stump at my last launch, and never gotten around to looking at the damage.

"You're right," I agreed, as I ran my hand under the lip of the license plate frame. "But where are the lights," I mused?

"Oh, they're easy," he suggested.  "You can usually just pop them out and replace them."

He was agreeable, and so I thought I should be too.  "I'm gonna wait until morning before I attempt that," I admitted.  

I turned to go, and realized he was still at my elbow, not returning to his vehicle like I thought he would.  "Are we done then," I asked?

"Not until after I run your ID, if you'll get it out," he prompted.  I did.

In a moment or two, he had read the ID number into his mike, and returned it. "All OK, you're free to go."

I took it and got in my car, started it up, and signaled before turning out onto the road again.

Cautiously, I powered up my phone and resumed listening to the book.  But my mind was replaying the encounter once more.



Why did he not ask about the rockets?  Could he not see them?  Did he not care?  I don't look like a terrorist, and certainly wasn't threatening, but I would think a question or two about "What are you doing with all these" might have been in line.   

But he didn't.  And I'm glad.   

What would YOU have told him?

This has been the Thrifty Rocketeer, wondering, how wrong could that traffic stop have gone?


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