Thursday, May 18, 2017
"Oh, look, there's one" my husband said. We were playing hide and seek with the white traffic cameras mounted at some Denver intersections. He was determined to track down the camera that resulted in a $40.00 fine for speeding. The photo "makes me look like a drug user" he complained.
He's a notoriously slow driver, so I agreed that it was hard to believe he was ten miles over the limit. Our kids spent their teen years looking over his shoulder and urging him to get up to speed. His last speeding ticket, 20 years ago, happened when he overlooked a school zone. He eventually got over that one, and he'll get over this one too. But he's riled up now.
The last two round trips through that intersection have been non-stop commentary, including the cost to us. A friend said "I just don't pay the tickets" which Bill can't imagine. And then there's the large line item in the city budget he imagines. "They must have spent a pretty penny on those things." But he's driving slowly again.
How sneaky it is that Big Brother's presence is on our streets? "You'll never see one those contraptions in Dobson." (Dobson, NC, our previous hometown )
He's not the least bit technically minded, and can't fathom how the system works. He imagines a big room with tech nerds watching the film in real time. Actually, the letter does have the name of the "photo speed operator" B. Lopez.
After 2 hours of constant complaint and indignation I asked if we could put it to rest. He thought he could. But he started in again this morning on the way home along the offending route. I tolerated it better because I was still woozy from anesthesia.
A week later a second citation came.
Maybe I'm just not feeling his pain and commiserating sufficiently for him to feel validated. Could be he just doesn't get out enough.
While I'm tired of his latest rant, he may be tired of mine. I considered what I hang onto like a terrier who's caught a rodent. Is he rolling his eyes when I yammer on about living in a cave, or gaining weight or terrible traffic. What if I got fined by the gnashnab patrol? I'd owe a fortune!
Either way I also need to put a sock in it, zip it up, and quarry for my inner Pollyanna.
Does your honey drive you crazy with a repeated tirade? How do you handle it?