Staggered out from last nights Halloween pub party, weaved my way through the
parking lot, struggled with the door lock key nonsense, poured into the
drivers seat chuckling that I never lock the TR's doors. Spun the tires out
the lot and got it pointed home mostly between the lines. Let out a whoop at
the sweet roar of exhaust. All in full view of the local constable. Noticed
the red light behind and kept going a block or so till he blipped the siren.
Rapid brake, screached to a sliding stop against the curb (I love bias ply),
waiting my tormentor. He saddled his way up to the cutout, "Nice Triumph,
now get out of the car". I obliged with a slight stumble on exit. Our
peace officer ran the drill... feet together- finger to nose- walk this line-
blow in here. He just shook his head at my perfect performance. "I watched
you stagger to your car, fumble the keys, almost drive on the sidewalk.... I
just don't understand... you're perfectly sober". I looked him straight in
the badge and said, "You've heard of the designated driver? Well, I'm the
designated decoy!" Still got a ticket.
Frank Zajac, International Barstool Driver, TR3A Mountain View, CA
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