On my way home from town shortly before noon, I let the Tahoe loose down the hill approaching the boundary of the city limits. A police car screeched to a stop from a side road, barely avoiding a broadside accident, or as some would probably term it, a good T-boning from me.
Let the record show that I was going approximately five miles over the speed limit. Hey! Those laws are made for people who don't know how to control their large SUVs. Besides, Genius said that his teacher told him on a robot team trip that police have a saying, "Nine, you're fine, ten, you're mine." Where she got her insider information, I don't know. It was so kind of her to enlighten beginning drivers on this corollary to the rules of the road.
The road from whence the patrol car nearly came flying has a twenty mph speed limit. I know that for a fact, Jack. I cut through there to go from town to the bowling alley. It runs past an elementary school. And those signs do NOT say when school is in session and children are present. Twenty mph is the speed limit all the livelong day. 24/7/365.
The policeman and I glanced at each other. Furitively. Like college acquaintances encountering each other in an adult bookstore on the edge of town. Not that I would know anything about that. We nodded. And went on about our business. I slowed down, and he tore out of there like a ninth-grade boy on his way to the cafeteria at the first clang of the lunch bell. Without lights and sirens.
Rules. Made to be broken. By Val and the law.