I love to speed--well--before I had Andrew--I would love to just speed down the highway. When I was living in Louisiana--I'd go back and forth to Houston to visit my parents and hang out with my friends--and that I-10 stretch of freeway proved to be more fun if I blazed it going about 99 miles per hour. The drive from my home in Louisiana to my parent's doorstep was about a 2 hour trip--I would challenge myself to do it in an hour and forty five minutes.
The drive was a bore--the scenery along the way were cattle, rest areas and adult video stores. Sometimes, to save on gas--I'd ride home with my co-worker Marty--his parents lived in Houston and he'd make the trip from Louisiana almost as much as I did. So I would hop in the passenger seat and have him drop me off at my momma's house until he was ready to go back to Louisiana on Sunday.
Marty had a little red sports car at the time and he loved to speed--I mean this thing had some get up and go! He ain't have horse power--he had Clydesdale power. He'd be zooming down I-10 about 110 or 120 miles per hour EASY! And what surprised me was that Marty never got a ticket. Cops never pulled him over--no matter how fast he went. He'd be blazing through speed traps--construction zones--work crews picking up trash--nothing--no red and blue lights would come after his car.
Well, one weekend--that changed! Marty and I were heading to Houston from Louisiana like usual and suddenly, we heard a siren--then saw the flashing lights and an announcement from the boys in blue "Pull your car over..." They weren't upset or anything--they asked politely actually... in fact, I believe they said please!
Anyway, Marty pulls over and reaches in the glove box... I grabbed his hand "Man, put your hands out the window--don't reach in the glove compartment--otherwise they'll think you're going for a gun and shoot you. It happened to my uncle. Let 'em see your hands."
Marty brushed me off, "Girl stop trippin'--police ain't gonna shoot you--they here to help you. Protect and serve..."
"Yeah," I told him, "protect the white folks and serve up an a$$ whipping to black people."
The cop approached the car, "Do you know how fast you were going?" he asked.
"No, I don't! I'm sure I was speeding though." Marty said with a chuckle.
My eyes got bigger than a slave who saw white sheets headed toward the underground railroad. I was scared-er than a priest in jail (regular prison--not that old sissy-fied country club stuff). But to my surprise, the officer was friendly.
He said, "You were doing over a hundred--I have one of these cars--and I'm tempted to test it out every now and again myself...."
They both started laughing and then the cop continued, "Here, I'm gonna give you a warning--keep it near the speed limit, if you can."
And he walked back to his car. I was furious... I jumped out the car and walked toward the trooper, "A warning? What the hell is a warning? We were doing over a hundred miles an hour in a damn school zone and you gonna give him a warning?"
"Ma'am--please get back in the car." The officer warned.
Marty was all confused he ain't know what to do, "Girl get in the car... Why are you trippin?"
"I'm trippin' cause black folks ain't never heard of no damn warning. I guarantee you when the cops stop us--we getting a ticket--we gonna have to come off some money! We ain't even know something like a freaking warning existed!"
"Well it does..." the cop explained.
"Yeah--but it must be for white folks only--the next time I get pulled over, I'm gonna tell the police to give me a warning like y'all been giving the white folks all these years--cause I'm due at least one."
I got back in the car--but I was pissed. I got on the cell phone and called every black person I knew--I asked 'em "Have y'all ever heard of getting a warning instead of a speeding ticket?" Not one person I knew had any idea there was such a thang.
Marty was in shock, "I get warnings all the time--I never get tickets--they just pull me over--warn me that I'm a little over the limit--and send me on my way."
That made me even more mad! You mean to tell me all this time--cops been issuing warnings to white folks while black folks and brown folks been getting tickets--and our insurance rates are through the roof--and All State won't stand behind us and we ain't in good hands with State Farm no 'moe--the damn Geico cavemen won't even return our calls--hell, even a phone is easy enough for a Caveman to use!
So from now on y'all--when you get pulled over for speeding--tell the cops that you want a white folks warning--it's part of your reparations package--tell 'em you cracked the code--you know what's up--and you want in on the deal!
All this time--when I be seeing white folks pulled over by the laws--I think "Yeah, they getting a ticket just like us!" WRONG! They over there trading bunt cake recipes, trading ghost stories and passing out warning slips.
