On Friday, February 15th, I was driving on Tower Road in Winnetka, Illinois (on my way to visit my mom) and was listening to my voicemails. I came to a stop (well, sort of) at a Stop sign at a 3-way stop, proceeded up Tower Road, and turned Right on Hibbard Road. As I turned I noticed a Winnetka Police car behind me. The cars lights started flashing and I pulled over to the side of the road. “Oh no, what did I do? Right! Now I remember—Winnetka has a no cell phone rule!”

As the driver’s side window lowered, I heard, “Excuse me, ma’am (not so Southern and friendly sounding—more tough-guy Chicago style), you didn’t come to a complete stop at the stop sign at Tower and Vernon. May I have your license and insurance,  please?”

“This is a rental car. I’m from Kansas. Here’s my license.” I handed it to him and then also added my rental car contract.

“Do you have a good driving record, ma’am (still the tough Chicago sounding “ma’am”)? If so, I’ll just give you a warning.”

“I have a clean driving record, Officer.”

Let’s pause here—Cliff’s notes of the past few blog entries will bring you up-to-speed: July, 2006 I received a speeding ticket in Kansas City, Kansas, where they allow people to plead down to a non-moving violation when they show up on a specific court date; I forgot to show up; the State of Kansas reminded me of the missed court date by suspending my driver’s license; my trusty attorney talked to the powers that be in KC, KS, and I was allowed to still change from speeding to jaywalking and the State of Kansas lifted my suspension; or, so I thought…

Back to Feb. 15: As the policeman processed my license, I patiently waited and worked a Sudoku puzzle. When I looked up I noticed the policeman was talking to another policeman in a second police car. “I sure wish they’d visit on their own time!” I thought. “Maybe I’ll give them the ‘North Shore entitlement  glare’! That might get him moving!”

Window on its way down, I heard, “Please step out of the car, ma’am (was this a more menacing “ma’am” or was I just imagining it?). You are driving on a suspended license. I cannot allow you to drive in the State of Illinois until you have a valid license. I could take you to jail; however, I will move your car to a side street and you will have to arrange to have it picked up. Should you be caught driving, I promise you that you will go to jail!”

“My license is not suspended!” I protested.

“Ma,am,” a new and more menacing voice said, “When we punched in your license number, Kansas responded it is suspended.” The new voice was attached to a taller, older cop who apparently arrived to help control this potentially unruly Kansan. “We could take you to jail, but we won’t. The officer will issue you a warning and you can call for someone to pick you up.”

As I fumbled for my phone, the officer softened, “Where are you on your way to?”

“My mom’s at the Mews.”

“Okay, put your phone away. I’ll take you there. Please get in the back seat of the car and be careful because the seat is firm.”

So, began my odyssey of experiencing a ride in the back seat of a police car. By the way, the back seat is, indeed, “firm!” It’s made of molded plastic—definitely practical but oh-so-NOT Winnetka! Arriving at my mom’s, I exited the comfy back seat, turned to the cop and said, “This is probably not the best time to ask you this, but would you like to experience a voyage into Outer Space? I am an Accredited Space Agent for Sir Richard Branson’s Virgin Galactic. Would you like me to send you some literature about Virgin Galactic?”

So, no sweat (bad pun–if you’ve been reading my previous posts!), I just show up at the courthouse in Kansas City, Kansas, on the appointed date and time and speeding will become jaywalking or a missing hubcap or something, right?

Well, not exactly—I forgot to write down the date I was to be in court and got busy with life. We had a lot going on:  we were packing up our belonging having just sold our house and were off to India for a week right before we moved (Do you detect a setup for an excuse for forgetting???).

 From time to time I remembered that I missed the court date. I told myself,  ”I need to call the city and find out what to do!” Then, promptly turned my attention to something else. Embarrassed? Lazy? Fear? Whatever, the motive and the motive behind the motive, I never followed up on my speeding ticket.

It took awhile for me to notify people of our new address so most mail arrived at the new house with the yellow forwarding sticker from the post office (they’re so helpful, you know!). One day when retrieving my mail, I noticed an unusual letter from the City of Kansas City, Kansas. “Oh no, not another solicitation for the Policemen’s Circus for Underprivileged Urchins again!” I thought. Wrongo, oh forgetful one! This was a letter informing me that my license was suspended because I never showed up in court, never paid my ticket! Now that got my attention and, putting aside all my excuses, I called my attorney for guidance.

He talked to the District Attorney’s Office in KCKS, explained that I had forgotten, yada,yada, yada, and the city agreed to allow me to plead to a non-moving violation of jaywalking (honest to God!) and my attorney told me, “All is well!”, sent me a bill for his services and the fine levied by KCKS—which I paid immediately!

So, I’m too busy? too important? too stupid? The “I’ll take care of it when I get around to it” attitude failed miserably. Why don’t I just do the next right thing, follow the rules, show up in court, and be done with it?

Hmmm……

On an extremely hot, humid, muggy July evening in 2006, I attended The Roasterie’s 2nd Annual Sweet Bean Cook-off, a competition of regional chefs to create the tastiest dessert using Roasterie Coffee (no, coffee drinks don’t count!). I was a woman on a mission—to recruit attendees to join owner Danny O’Neill on a custom designed Kenyan safari including visits to Kenyan coffee plantations. It was showtime, folks! I dressed professionally, carted in tons of collateral material (by myself–whine, whine!) into the Roasterie’s soon to be new digs and proceeded to set up a display table about Africa and the Roasterie Kenyan Safari.

There was one teensy, eensy, little problem—the new facility had no air conditioning! Chefs were watching their frozen coffee desserts melt into high caloric, delicious puddles; guests, already attired in shorts and tees, fanned themselves with their hands, paper, and many of my fliers (at least they were good for something since I had no takers for the safari!). I stood next to the display table doing my imitation of the melting frozen desserts; I was not glistening; I was not perspiring; I was sweating like a hog (do hogs sweat?) and I was sure there was about to be a puddle of sweat gathering at my feet!

At the conclusion of the event, I threw the remaining brochures into a box and darted for the exit and into my car. I cranked up the A/C in the car, turned on NPR, and headed home. I don’t know my way around the part of KC where the Roasterie is and after a couple of wrong turns ended up on a street called Southwest Boulevard. I knew that street would lead to an entrance to the highway. I took a deep breath, wiped the remaining sweat off my face, and moved into the lane that would take me to the highway.

That’s when I noticed a flashing light in my rear-view mirror—a police car!

“Yes sir,” I said, rolling down the window, “is there a problem?”

“Ma’am (I love this part of the Midwest where Ma’am sounds so Southern!), you were going 45 in a 25 zone.”

“Oh my gosh, I had no idea! I’m so sorry! Here’s my license. I know I deserve a ticket. I wasn’t paying attention. You see I just left the Roasterie where I was presenting a safari to Kenya to the guests at Sweet Bean 2. Have you ever been to Africa?”

“No ma’am, (there, he said it again!), I’ll just check your license, write the ticket and be right back.”

Quickly rolling up the window (did I mention it was ungodly hot?), I wasn’t even upset I got a ticket.  I was just grateful to be out of the tropics and in front of A/C!

“Ma’am (three’s a charm!),” the officer knocked on my window.” If you show up in court on September 18th, Kansas City, Kansas will allow you to plead to a non-moving violation.”

“Really? That’s great! So, where’s your favorite place to vacation? Can Great Getaways help you plan your next vacation?”

A girl’s gotta ask, you know!

I haven’t blogged for quite awhile. I confess I’ve become a politics/talking head fanatic lately! I am so excited that we will soon be able to elect a new President of the USA and I’ve immersed myself in the process. For example, I live in the State of Kansas, a Caucus state. On Super Tuesday, I attended the Democratic Caucus to support Barack Obama. Although I am an Independent, I was allowed to change my preference before entering the caucus. Our state overwhelmingly supported Obama (almost 75%)—very unusual because we are a red state. Yes, we have a Democratic governor, Kathleen Sebelius (who is very, very impressive—gave the Dem’s rebuttal to Bush’s “State of the Union” Speech this year—good rebuttal, presentation a little stiff) and in the area of Kansas in which we live, Democrats are almost a secret underground society–until this election!

So, what’s with the title of this blog, “Rules Don’t Apply”? There are obvious connections to our current political situation: i.e. the “reasons” we declared war on Iraq–made up lies—oops, RDA!; how Bush “won” the election in 2000-thank you Kathryn Harris—oops, RDA!; stacking the Justice Department based on party affiliation—oops, RDA!; Hillary Clinton wanting the Michigan and Florida primaries to count as is—oops, RDA!; Michael Vick; Britney Spearsetc, etc, etc. You get the point!

How about closer to home, very, very close to home–as in, where am I in regards to RDA in my actions?

Here’s a few things I use to check whether I am within or above the “law”:

Do I drive the speed limit? A few miles over the limit but not enough to be stopped by the cops? Speed limit—what speed limit?

Do I park my car where parking isn’t allowed? Handicapped spaces? Fire lanes? Ignoring “no parking at any time” because I’ll only be away from the car for a few minutes? Or because it’s cold? Rainy? yada, yada, yada?

Do I pay income tax? Honestly? Fudgingly? Who cares—I love prison garb?

Whether it’s inconvenient, nonsenical (according to me, the arbiter of “Right and Appropriate Rules”), my ego roaring, questionable priorities, or lack of integrity (if I’m not caught, it doesn’t count), I really strive more often than not to behave. Believe me, I’m not patting myself on the back. In fact, in further blog entries, I’ll share what happens when RDA rules my life.

Below is a link to Earth Clock, which shows what our current lifestyle is doing to our environment—socially, culturally, and phsyically:

http://www.poodwaddle.com/clocks3.htm