Warming the Pew
I never expected to be sitting on a pew during my lunch break today. Brandon text messaged me about thirty minutes before my lunch break saying that I needed to go with him to the DMV so that we could register our Nissan. The need to register became clear when we were sitting at one of Atlanta's 20 minute redlights and a policeman pulled up next to us and made that "roll the window down" motion. I was on the passenger side, so, while trying to mask my horror, I fumbled for the button to roll it down. "You living here in Georgia?" He asked. "Yes, officer," Brandon replied. "Then why do you have an expired California license plate? There's a $125 ticket for that." Brandon apologized and promised to get our car registered first thing Monday, while I tried to mask my horror and wished the light would turn green, I mean seriously, it had been red for at least half an hour now.
I have this fear of policemen. Believe it started at a young age. See, whenever my parents would get pulled over when I was little, everyone in the car would convince me that my mom or dad would have to go to jail if they got a ticket. As far as my Disney knowledge of jail went, jail was a place where you only got bread and water and you pretty much were stuck there the rest of your life. So I cried. I didn't just cry, I bawled so that when the policemen approached the car, I was a red-faced, hyperventilating puddle of abject despair, all because he didn't like my parents going 10 mph over the speed limit. Generally the policeman would try to cheer me up, saying that it was going to be okay, then give my mom or dad a warning and walk away.
So anyway, we drove to the closest DMV to my work. Instead of chairs, there were lines of pews on which to sit and wait. I was disappointed that the backs of the pews didn't hold hymn books. Thankfully the wait wasn't too long and we now have our brand new Georgia plates. We're Georgians now. So weird.
I'm just happy Brandon won't have to go to jail now with the bread and the water and the buzzards as guards.
I have this fear of policemen. Believe it started at a young age. See, whenever my parents would get pulled over when I was little, everyone in the car would convince me that my mom or dad would have to go to jail if they got a ticket. As far as my Disney knowledge of jail went, jail was a place where you only got bread and water and you pretty much were stuck there the rest of your life. So I cried. I didn't just cry, I bawled so that when the policemen approached the car, I was a red-faced, hyperventilating puddle of abject despair, all because he didn't like my parents going 10 mph over the speed limit. Generally the policeman would try to cheer me up, saying that it was going to be okay, then give my mom or dad a warning and walk away.
So anyway, we drove to the closest DMV to my work. Instead of chairs, there were lines of pews on which to sit and wait. I was disappointed that the backs of the pews didn't hold hymn books. Thankfully the wait wasn't too long and we now have our brand new Georgia plates. We're Georgians now. So weird.
I'm just happy Brandon won't have to go to jail now with the bread and the water and the buzzards as guards.
