I GOT BUSTED BY A ROAD BLOCK.Yeah, coming home from the Cabaret just filthy and doing about 90, I thought I was a goner. As it turns out, the really nice police officer complimented my "neat outfit," (see: mild mannered reporter costume) but gave me a citation for no proof of insurance not to mention an aneurysm.
Now, before any of you start -- I do have insurance, I swear. I just didn't have the stupid little card on me. So, a quick call to Geico this morning and a printed e-mail later, Voila I have proof of insurance. A trip to the post office tomorrow to get a photocopy of it certified and off it goes to the State of Georgia.
Luckily, Atlanta's finest didn't do too thorough of a search on my car (just a quick flashlight glance really) cause I'm sure there was enough evidence in the floorboards to put me away for 3-5 with good behavior. Lord.
So, what's a boy to do after pulling away? Yup, call the Cabaret and have Charlie announce the exact location of said roadblock. I'm such a teamplayer.
1 comment:
Roadblocks make me nervous even if I've done nothing wrong.
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