25 years of driving later, I was getting my first traffic ticket -- 3:50AM exactly, on a non-eventful, most insignificant Wednesday morning. Who would have thought anything exciting on the hump of a week, like Wednesday? It is unimaginable, let alone lawful, but there I was, ironically for offending the law, sitting and waiting in the car numb and shocked at my fate: I had became one of those pitiful public humiliation displayed in the broad daylight -- well in my mind at least -- in truth: on a pitched dark, still asleep street.
How many times have you looked at the rear mirror praying for a narrow escape after slamming on your break at the sight of a speed trapper police car? Well this time when the blinding white and blue lights blazed up at the mirror, I was caught totally surprised. My body surged through a numbing sensation as I cruised to the side and dutifully parked. Was I speeding? What did I do? The question marks went wild like the blinking lights of the patrol car behind me. After handing in my license and registration I finally humbly asked him what I did. “You did not come to a complete stop at the stop sign” was the official verdict. There was no point of arguing at the finality of his accusation devoid of any trace of mercy. I sat deflated for seemingly eternality until he returned with my ticket 15 minutes later. “You have a safe trip now” was his farewell. Was that sarcastic or was it a genuine good wish? I wondered. If so, was he OUT OF HIS MIND??
I had always wondered how depressing a day would be for those wounded animals after being degraded and forced with a traffic ticket. I experienced it firsthanded that day. Never a confrontational type, unless sufficiently provoked, I went to work depressed. Desperate time called for desperate measure, and my first reach for help was the phone on the desk for the biggest supporter and partner for life, who was still in sleep. The phone rang 4 times unanswered as I drifted even lower to the drowning sea of dejection. I thought I was going to cry. Within seconds, he called back. 25 years of marriage later, he knows me and my phobia well enough to receive all my agony and outcry. After 5 minutes of sympathy and TLC, I was finally patched up to face the world again.
When it comes to sympathy, is there ever a limit for anyone at all? I wonder. My humiliation though great was no match for my pride. I then went around hoping to seek more support from a floor of cell mates. Surely there would be some fellow drivers who must have faced the same persecution to commiserate with! I was right and wrong – in fact, all have been there plenty of times and yet none of them for moral support. Instead of offering sympathy, they laughed up and down at my calamity and unanimously raised the same remark “I can’t believe you have never got a ticket till now”. They went side-tracked on with their “records”, incredibly with much pride and joy – what they were and some of which how they talked themselves out of. The mourning party I had intended to host turned into this celebration memorial where the main focus was anyone but me! The closest thing that resembled consolation was something like: Just pay the fine and forget it.
Nearly 2 weeks have passed since and I have not yet been able to solve the puzzle: was it cultural or was it just me? Face-on with any authority, let alone being found guilty, is a total violation of safety and dignity. It takes me back to the classroom where my worst fear, besides pop quizzes, was realized - being called out as the public display of the BAD student, the offender. The disapproval from the teacher as well as the alienation from your peers separates you from the rest of the world with miles long of abyss. Their look of contempt, sympathy and distrust is worse than death – because you are alive to see and feel it every second. But here I am, decades later on the other end of the earth, a law offender all over again, finding my peers’ jeers not from the crime itself but from the absence of crime all these years till now. They laughed it off and walked away, as if it had never ever happened. In their eyes, I am cleared, or should I say, the same person or colleague they have known for the past 3 years – no better or no worse. In fact, my offense, instead of separating, has done exactly the opposite – blending me in with them! I now face the choice to choose between staying trapped in this jail of shame and taking the pardon to join the society. After all, I have served the sentence from another life all these years; maybe it’s time to lift the past verdict.
My failure to stop, ironically, did me a much needed dose of stopping. I am ready to go now.
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