by Zvi A. Sesling

I am driving on the turnpike heading home late at night with the radio blasting to keep me awake. The Kinks sing Lola and I tap my foot to the music making the car speed up and slow down with the net cumulative effect of my driving about twenty miles over the speed limit.

Suddenly, a blue light flashes behind me, siren wailing. Pulling over I hear a voice boom out on a loudspeaker, “Turn off the motor and put your hands on the steering wheel.”

I do as ordered and wait for the police officer to come up to me. It is a female officer saying, “Lower the window.” I could not do that because the motor was off. The window is electric, so she signals me to get out of the car, orders me to turn, spread my legs, put my hands on the car. She pats me down, tells me to walk a straight line, which I gratefully do successfully. She requests I spread my arms, touch my nose, first with the index finger of my right hand, then my left. I pass this test.

“You realize you were exceeding the speed limit by twenty miles per hour,” she asks?

“Actually officer I didn’t. I was tapping my foot to the music,” I tell her politely, explaining I was seduced by Lola.

“I see, she said, you like to dance while driving?”

“No, the music just got to me, it’s a great beat,” I responded

She studies me for a minute, “There’s a dance down at the high school, follow me, we’ll probably have a good time.”