In a Probationary State

Last week I was pulled over by a motorcycle police guy for not coming to a complete stop at a stop sign. The reason that is extra bad is because you might recall that I was cited two months ago for busting a police barricade. It was a very expensive citation. To be pulled over again after just two months is like the worst nightmare EVER. As the officer approached my car, I kept repeating, "Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no [repeat]." Then I curled into the fetal position and started sucking my thumb.

The officer asked for my license and registration. [plot spoiler follows: I rarely drive with my license]. "Ummm. I dont' have my license."

Motorcycle Police Guy: You do have a license?

Me: Yeah. I just left it at home.

MPG: I'll still need to see your registration

I hand it over with shaky hands.

MPG: And I'll need your birthdate.

I dictate and he writes it on his thumb (truly). I guess when you're a motorcycle cop you have to travel light. He leaves. I start my mantra again. He comes back and says (this is true, too):

MPG: Are you on probation?

Me: [to myself: what the heck?!] [To MPG]: Probation!??!?

MPG: Yes. Probation out of Columbia County

For the record - I don't even know where Columbia County IS.

He said some other stuff about felonies and clarified my birthdate again on his thumb: 13-27-05.

Me: Nope. I'm not on probation. Promise. I'm just, like, a ... a soccer mom (it was the most benign thing I could think of. But I guess I could have told him I make puff pastries for a living or something like that. It would have been equally relevant and persuasive).

He mutters into his radio. I can hear the recorder (or whoever) mumbling something else on the other end. The officer says, "Yes. The birthdate is important."

Then he says, "Oh."

Then he says, "There's a Robin Barker on probation born on 13-24-05." (same month, same year, only three days older - just a little clarification since those are Bogus birthdates to protect the identity of the innocent)

Then he says, "I'm not going to give you a ticket."

I uncurled myself from fetal position.

This whole exchange left me reeling with different emotions: relief not to get a another ticket, impressed that my doppleganger is an escaped felon, anxious that I was late picking Talmage up from preschool; and lots of funniness that the officer didn't have a notepad.