AMERICAN METAPHOR: TRY AND PAY ATTENTION

An American metaphor can be a traffic ticket that comes with certain instructions, the main one being pay up.

Or a presidential election, but traffic ticket first.

If a driver feels unfairly targeted, there’s a court option. Even if it’s fair and you know you are guilty, a court challenge could succeed if the ticketing officer doesn’t show up.

So why not take it to court, right?

On a Friday morning after the presidential election and news of Trump lawsuits being dismissed, this moment seemed too familiar.

Once upon a time I had an old gold chevy and a place of my own. It wasn’t me and Suzy having so much fun, I was married with two kids. And it was fun.

That is was an old oxidized brown 1968 GMC work truck I bought from a family member in the early 1990’s is beside the point.

It was a full sized pickup with a powerhouse 350 V8. The extra under the hood was the carburetor. When I changed the air filter I learned that the carburetor had come from a 455 V8 engine.

Long story short, it was a gas hog so I kept my foot off the pedal. How big a hog? I filled it up, hit I-5, and floored it just to see. It was the first and only time I hammered the old rig and it purred like a kitten till the lake pipes roar.

During the lift off I watched the gas gauge and speedometer. I could see the one dial, the gas, moving left toward E, the speed dial moving right. But that wasn’t speeding ticket time.

I knew all I needed to know about Big Brown after that and laid off the gas the rest of the years I owned it.

A Polite Policeman American Metaphor

I wanted my kids to have memories of slow cruising their town with their old man. On Saturday mornings after my wife left for work, I’d load the kids, who were three and five at the time, in the cab and do weekend errands.

We also looked for gravel roads to bump down for extra parenting credit.

One morning I was at the light where Hall crossed 99. We were headed for the old Safeway that’s now Joann Fabric on the other side.

With two lanes of traffic going each way, along with turn lanes, the highway was a good six lanes wide. Since it was early with light traffic, I shifted into Grandma, first gear, and idled across the intersection on a green light.

It was a cold and rainy day as we creeped along. I asked the kids if I should speed up. They said yes, so I pulled the four on the floor gear shift into second with a lurch. We all laughed.

Under the green light I noticed a motorcycle policeman waiting to make a right turn on Hall. I had been ticketed after yellow light signals before and thought, ‘not this time, buddy.’

I made it through the intersection on time with my slow-drive style. But the policeman saw it differently, hit the lights while he waited to turn, and pulled me over.

‘Opportunistic traffic stop,’ I thought, but like a law abiding citizen I rolled down my window while he pulled out his ticket book. At the end I wanted the kids to know I respected police work, policemen, and asked him if the kids could see his badge.

He took it wrong, said a few snippy things, handed me a ticket and left. I might have said, “Have a dry day, sir,’ just so the kids wouldn’t be afraid of uniformed authority.

I felt like he could have done better community outreach in the moment, could have given me a warning with kids in the car, maybe shared a badge sticker.

Officer Friendly Fail

Instead of McGruff the Crime Fighting Dog, I got Joe Friday from Dragnet: “Just the facts.”

Fair or unfair, I was angry I got the ticket, angry the policeman wasn’t nice to the kids, but what was I going to do about it? Yell at the kids? Kick the dog? Or suck it up, put it away, and not let the encounter ruin the mood with the kids.

So that’s what I did. I parked in the Safeway lot and made the rounds of grocery shopping. With a big load in the cart we made the final turn before checkout.

Little boy saw something he wanted, needed, couldn’t live without: expensive container of fresh squeezed orange juice, which I never buy. But he was determined. I made counter offers, distracted him, and headed to the counter.

Halfway through check out, little boy ran off to grab his OJ. I stayed with the cart and send big boy to fetch him back. I heard kid screams before I saw it was my kid. Big boy was dragging little boy on the floor of Safeway.

Now I was the single parent with out of control kids. If they didn’t calm down, I was going to apologize to the cashier, leave the groceries, grab the kids and leave.

As they passed an older, kindly looking man, with one of them still screaming, he leaned over. ‘Perfect’ I thought. Where the officer didn’t play nice with them, this older man would say something calm and reassuring like you’d hope a mature person would do.

The Real World Spoke

Instead of a calm and reassuring voice for a child, this old man leaned over and yelled in his face, “WHY DON’T YOU SHUT UP!“

And it worked. My kid quieted down in a shocky way, a stunned way, and was shaking when I picked him up.

I gave him a few calm and reassuring words like a dad would do, then looked at the old man. He was as tall as me, big, with a smug look on his face I interpreted as, ‘That’s how you do parenting, rookie.”

I switched little boy to my other arm, big boy hanging on my leg, and gave the old man a smile. We smiled at each other. He looked like he wanted a thank you. So I talked to him.

“What’s next for you today, old man?” I said quietly. “Yell at little kids who are too upset for you, kick a dog that barks too much for you, go beat your wife because she made scrambled eggs instead of easy over for you? What’s your problem, pal. What’s the matter with you to yell in a kid’s face, a kid you don’t know?”

We weren’t smiley after that. I finished checking out at the same time he did. We walked out at the same time. His car was parked next to my truck. I trolled him with more suggestions on how he could spend his day.

Once in the cab I asked the kids, “Did daddy say a bad word to the mean man?”

Big boy replied, “You said all of them.”

I returned with the classic, “Let’s not tell mom.”

Officer Friendly In Court

I’d been angry for getting a ticket, but did the right thing and blamed myself. I knew I wasn’t in violation and I’d prove it in court.

When the date came I showed up at the assigned time and looked around. My ticketing officer wasn’t there in his motorcycle gear. I was free and clear.

I sat and waited my turn. While I waited I chatted with a man sitting one seat away about my ticket, the rude cop, and since he didn’t show up I wouldn’t have to prove the innocence I knew in my heart.

The man was a good listener. He said he was familiar with the intersection of Hall and 99, that they test and recalibrate the signals frequently. He must have been in for the same ticket I got, I thought.

When the judge called my name I stood and took my place before him and waited for him to call the officer who wasn’t there. I figured he’d call the name a few times, then dismiss the case.

But he called it once and the man I’d been talking to stood up. When the judge asked me how I wanted to plead, I said, “Guilty, your honor,” and paid the fine on the way out.

Law And Order American Metaphor

Where I should have taken the old man in Safeway’s advice and shut up, I didn’t. Lesson learned. I felt a little shocky.

When things turn out right, be humble and accepting and praise your opponent; when they turn out wrong, accept the results and move forward.

This American metaphor applies to all, from the street sweeper to the president of the United States. I couldn’t sway a decision and neither can Trump in the election of 2020.

Count the votes, check the numbers, sweep facilities for extra ballots, and count them all. Win or lose, skip the whining and complaining. Be a smart guy and show some class.

When I got home from Safeway I reminded the kids not to tell mom about my bad words to the yelling man. My wife was home ten seconds before the little grinders ratted me out.

From the looks of the vote count in the Presidential election, a majority of American have heard enough Trump talk and ratted him out with their votes.

That’s how it works in an American metaphor from top to bottom. We can lie and cheat and steal up to a certain point, and when the day of reckoning comes, we can’t ignore the results our actions return for us.

Or our vote. What’s your take, your American metaphor. If you read this outside the US, leave a comment.