Speeding to a ticket

On May 20, I got my first traffic ticket for speeding. I was not, nor anyone I knew in any danger. Nor was I late for a meeting. I was not driving upset, mad or out of sheer happiness. I had nowhere special to be. I had been given many opportunities to slow down, but I did not take any of them.

In short, I was stupid.

On May 20, I was coming home from the next town over. Almost every day, I travel the four-lane highway into town from where I live. It is a 20-minute drive, depending on traffic. I have always considered myself to be a safe driver. I pay attention, look around me, signal and do not take senseless risks. However, the one thing I do not pay too much attention to is my speed (but even then, I considered myself to be better than others). I cannot stand going slow, and as a rule, I go at least 10 above any speed limit.

In my mind, what I was doing was OK. I considered myself to be minimizing road rage since I would be going so far above the speed limit that no one would have a right to complain about me going too slow if they were behind me. Yes, that is what I truly thought.

One thing I loved about driving was being in the passing lane. I had created my own little road game. Once I got onto the four-lane highway, I would assess the situation and try to get as far ahead as possible. I change lanes, pass some cars, switch lanes, pass on the right, change lanes, and if I get a red light at the intersection right before the lanes merge, I’ll switch into the merging lane, anticipate the green light, gun the engines, and pass in front of the other car before they even get up to speed. But in my mind, my driving was fine.

May 20 was a night that I was using the left lane to its full potential. As I turned onto the highway, I grinned. There were about five cars ahead of me, all spaced fairly evenly. All I had to do was weave in and out, and I would be in front. But there was one car that was giving me trouble. At first it was slow, but then it got behind me in the passing lane and passed me as soon as I moved into the right lane. I wasn’t about to be beat.

When my speed started encroaching on 120, that’s when I saw lights on the purple car start flashing. My heart sank. My luck of beating the law, of never getting caught, had run out. And I absolutely, without a shred of doubt, deserved it. I could not force tears or plea that I had a valid reason for the excess speed. I could not even argue that it was a one-time act—I had passed him three times. He had given me more than enough chances to slow down, but I ignored every one.

On May 20, I came back with a speeding ticket, (which the officer had mercifully reduced), but I also came back with my life, and so did everyone else on the road with me. What I was doing was not safe. I am ashamed of myself, and I have no excuses. I learned something the hard way.

There are other people on the road than us, we must all realize that. If it was not for that police officer, this evening could have cost me a lot more than my $50 ticket.

Rebecca B. lives in Acton, Ontario, and won $100 for this article! You can win money for your first-person essays, too. Enter at nextSTEPmag.com/shoutout.

Article provided by