I’m driving 40 mph on a street with a 35 mph speed limit. Passing an opening, I see a police SUV slowly creep up behind me. I lightly tap on my brake to make sure I’m only going around 30 to 34, to ensure that the cop doesn’t pull any funny business with me. The cop keeps trailing behind me, seeming to not have any intention to pass me. I think about putting my right turn signal on and moving over to the next lane, but my stressed mind thinks that might be suspicious to the cop. I drive through a green light, double checking it is in fact green and that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. I hesitantly bring my right hand down from the steering wheel and turn off the radio. I quickly glance down to see my knuckles turning white from gripping the wheel too hard. I near the intersection I need to turn left on, hoping the unpromising car goes straight or turns right. But I see the red and blue lights flash in my rear view mirror. I shakily turn on my warning signal and pull over to the side carefully.
I prepare my driver’s license, only issued nine months ago, and vehicle registration which is tucked neatly in a sandwich bag to easily find it in the mountains of papers. I roll my window down as the middle-aged policeman crouches down to meet my height in my tiny convertible. I put my lips together in a straight line and lift the corners of my mouth, trying to muster a smile. “Hello, Officer,” I croak out. “How are you doing today?” he replies out of social etiquette. “I’m good.” I say. But I think, “Well I was good until I was pulled over.” He gives me his routine blurb, asking for my license and registration. He gives me the rundown of the whole situation, dumbing down the jargon to help my 17-year-old mind wrap around it all. As he walks back to his car to process my information, I finally take a deep breath. I wasn’t in any real trouble and wasn’t going to be given a ticket. It was just a small discrepancy with my license plate. It was going to be fine. My mom wasn’t going to kill me once I got home. I slowly drove off and made the left turn to go home. I made sure I was driving 45 (which was the speed limit) or less, but it felt like my heart was going 100.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time I was pulled over. I haven’t even had my license for a full year yet, and I had already been pulled over twice. I was pulled over the first time because of (another) license plate issue. The situations were slightly different, but my reaction was almost the exact same. Heart hammering against my ribcage, hands shaking, shallow breaths. No matter how many times you get pulled over, it’s always super, super scary.
Maybe it was bad luck combined with lack of thinking on my part, but I’ve learned my lesson to do whatever I can do to ensure that I do not get pulled over in the near future. If you’ve been driving for 30 years or 30 days, you still need to be careful on the road to guarantee everyone's, including your, safety. Seeing those flashing lights immediately sparks anxiety — anxiety that is avoidable (most of the time).
