Note: Somehow or other, this post got posted without its title. I could not abide that, so I fixed it. The rest of the post continues to be regrettable.
I have been “sort of” doing WordPress’s Daily Post Challenge. I usually post daily. That is my hat tip to “challenge.” But so far I haven’t found their topics inspiring, and I almost always have some burning issue to blog about. But today’s DPChallenge caught my eye. “Have you ever broken the law?” Like, really?
Hmmm. I have to think about this. I have a morbid fear of breaking laws, probably stemming from childhood when my parents devised creative punishments for my childish transgressions, like locking me in the car for hours (with the windows cracked a bit, of course). But maybe not.
I really think my original terror of breaking the law came about through a near-death experience when I was ten. My parents wanted to “take a nap” (we all know what THAT means, if we’re parents) and sent me out to play, with explicit instructions not to ride my bike past a certain point on the country road we lived on. Well, not exactly on, since our driveway was nearly half a mile long, but it was the nearest paved road.
I rode down the permitted road till I got to my friend Colleen’s house. Colleen had a lot of brothers, and could pee standing up. Her parents worked, like, ALL the time and were never around, so Colleen and her brothers did whatever they wanted, and only ever ate things out of cans and boxes. Anyway, Colleen got her hand-me-down Stingray bike with the red sparkly seat, which I coveted greatly, and we headed off down the forbidden part of the road.
We hadn’t got very far when something went wrong with my bike pedal, and as I looked down to see what it was, I swerved right into the path of an oncoming car and was hit, or so they told me after I came out of the coma.
Of course an ambulance-chaser lawyer was on the scene almost before I got to the hospital. After I got home from the hospital, my parents actually asked me, at age ten, whether I thought they should sue the driver who hit me. I panicked at the very idea, since I KNEW that the only reason the car had hit me was that I had disobeyed my parents, and to sue the poor driver, who was only the instrument for carrying out Divine Justice, would be heaping transgression upon transgression; so I begged them not to, and they didn’t.
Later on in my life, when I was desperate for money, I had no qualms about selling marijuana. I thought the fact that it was illegal was ridiculous, especially since I sold it at fair prices. There was nothing whatsoever wrong with providing freaks with good dope. And I hitchhiked a lot, which was illegal. I drove my 1967 Volvo B-27 late at night on curvy back roads as fast as I possibly could, and got stopped once. The officer looked into my sweet young scared face and said, “All right, Miss, I’m not going to give you a ticket this time, but I better not see you driving that fast again. You could get yourself killed, you know.” I nodded vigorously, quaking with fear (since I am really afraid of breaking laws and the possible consequences, but mostly of policemen).
A bunch of years later I did get a ticket for driving my three-quarter-ton black Cummins Diesel Dodge 250 pickup with the eight-foot bed, diamond-plate truck box and running boards, at 90 miles an hour on a straightaway. I was thinking about a relationship that had gone bad, and wasn’t paying attention. That truck could hit 120 and you wouldn’t even feel it. Oh God I was in love with that truck. I know the officer had a hard-on when he walked up to it. All men did. I loved the power of it. The ticket bummed me out because it caused my insurance to go up, but I didn’t regret letting 590 cubic inches of diesel ponies out on that straightaway, no sir, no way. I guess I got corrupted by the sheer power of that truck.
Since then my legal life has been pretty bland. I got fined for having a tail-light out. I got stopped because it was coming on dusk and I hadn’t put my lights on yet. All vehicular infractions.
Now we come to the Breaking Of Religious Laws department, in which I am a hopeless heretic and recidivist. To explain the underlying premises of the infractions would require more words than you would ever stand for, so I will not go into it. Suffice it to say that if there is indeed a system in place such as Orthodox Judaism maintains, I will be in a heap of trouble after my spirit abandons its earthly vehicle. More vehicular infractions. I guess that’s my specialty, when it comes to breaking laws. I just hope they don’t lock me in a car.