God Bless the Policemen's Benevolent Association

So Paul's bachelor party was Saturday night. Joe, Kevin, and I got back to New Brunswick at 1 in the morning from it, and I got the fun of making my long, torturous drive back home to Pitman. I made good time, and after a little over an hour I made it back to my home town, only to run afoul of a notorious speed trap that I have since been helpfully informed was voted the 2nd biggest speed trap in all of South Jersey, a mere five or six blocks from home. In my defense, I had been braking when the speed limit dropped down from 50 to 40, but since I could see headlights right behind me, I didn't want to be an asshole and slam on my brakes to get to the legal sped and inconvenience the poor motorist behind me, who, yes, turned out to be a cop hoping I'd fail to do just that.

It gets better, of course. He asks me for my registration and insurance, so I go into my glove compartment and hand them both to him, all calm and nice, only to have him inform me that they had both expired a year ago. Sigh. I did find my proper registration, but the insurance card eluded me, as I frantically pawed through the years of invoices from mechanics that my mom had been keeping cluttering up the glove box since we first got the car about a decade ago. Fortunately, I had my PBA card on hand, so he let me off with a warning. I did later find out why I couldn't find the insurance card -- my mother had helpfully placed it inside my owner's manual, which was missing outright from my car, so I got to go to Allstate earlier this morning to get a temporary card. Yay me.

So yes, God bless the PBA and their wonderful "Get Out of Jail Free" cards, and my mommy for growing up with close friends who would unofficially adopt a future cop. You have saved me from certain doom this weekend.