Yesterday on my drive home, a police car sidled up beside me on the highway. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his car and glanced to my right, then did a double-take because the driver was not the standard FatCop that I’m accustomed to in SA – he was actually pretty cute. I continued driving and minding my own business, then realized that the car was pacing me.
Slight panic – the possibilities ran through my head:
– had he run my plates and found out somehow that I hadn’t gotten my oil changed in 8 months? Dad tells me it’s a horrendous crime, but is it a punishable offense?
– was there something wrong with my car that I hadn’t seen because it was on the passenger side? Maybe some “COPZ SUX” graffiti or something?
– did I look like a criminal in the Crime Database of America (it’s real, probably, I’m sure of it)? What crimes did I (allegedly) commit?
It took me a few seconds to realize that I was still listening to my Wicked soundtrack and still (emphatically) singing Popular. The next time I looked at his car (I had been avoiding looking over anymore while I tried to figure out my crime), he and his partner were cracking up watching me.
Whatever, I was just at the good part of the song. I waved to them and smiled and continued singing – practicing for the time when the Wicked cast needs an emergency audience stand-in that knows all the words to the songs… I’ll be ready.