Yesterday my best friend and I were discussing my blog, and with a little caution in our voices, we both expressed that keeping up content for the blog may become an issue in the future, given that down here, things happen very s-l-o-w-l-y.  Unlike New York City (my most favourite city in the world), which literally never sleeps, Grahamstown is in a permanent state of deep slumber, waking up on occasion to open one eye, look around, think better of that idea, and close the same said eye again.

However, it seems I do not need to worry one little bit, as occurrences seem to follow me around down here, as surely as night follows day and the other way around.

Today is Friday the 13th.  I have always been adverse to suspicion, and this morning my

fiancée and I were even discussing this date in a jovial manner.  I was telling him that "nothing bad has ever happened to me on Friday the 13th" and I moved my mind swiftly on to Sky TV news which seems to show ONLY news about Friday the 13th, every day - bad news, worse news, then some really seriously terrible news. 

I shot off to my place of temporary employment with an en route plan to drop off my car at the local car wash.  Living on a farm, my previously pristine vehicle now looks like it is in a state of permanent preparation for war.  Today it is so dirty and dusty that the registration plate is barely visible, or so I thought. 

I was happily listening to the news in Afrikaans on Radio Algoa, understanding the odd word here and there; I turned left onto the car wash street and lo and behold there was a traffic cop, running towards me with his eyes on fire, waving me down.  I was most perplexed.  I thought perhaps his car had broken down and he needed a lift in my farm car; but no, as I unwound my window, he bellowed in a deep, angry voice, "THAT IS A STOP STREET YOU JUST WENT THROUGH, NOT A YIELD!"  Now I was even more perplexed.  I looked at him and said, "but I did stop?" His reply was so aggressive that my knees literally started to shake and my bottom lip began to quiver - "you only stopped for two seconds, by law you need to stop for five seconds; that is reckless driving, I could arrest you for that!!" 

Something inside me stirred and I could feel my ever repressed anger start to bubble to the top of my normally clear head.  I looked at him and said in a monotone voice "I beg your parden, you could have me arrested for stopping three seconds short of your version of the law?"  I thought Mr. Traffic Cop was going to take off.  His eyes widened, his nostrils flared, his pink tongue turned purple and suddenly he seemed to grow from 5 ft 11 inches to 9 feet 2 inches!  "Oh bugger", I thought to myself.

He looked at me and screamed, "I am going to arrest you!  Get out of your vehicle".   A small crowd was gathering on the pavement next to my car.  I felt like I was perhaps on TV. I looked at him casually, even though my insides were twisting, turning and coiling around.  I leaned over to my cubby hole, pulled out a "Know your rights on the road" document I used to keep on hand in Johannesburg after a few experiences with aggressive cops up there; I opened the document and said to him in an icy tone, "I am sorry Sir, but I know my rights.  Your aggressive behaviour is old hat to me; I am from Johannesburg, where women are often treated like you are treating me by traffic officers, I know my rights, and you have NO right to arrest me!"  Mr. Small Town Traffic Baron stared at me with even wider eyes.

Members of the pavement crowd started to laugh; Mr. Traffic Cop looked at me, swallowed very hard, and said, "I am going to arrest you!"  I looked at him, lifted my Chanel sunglasses and placed them casually on top of my head, Paris Hilton style.  I gave him my most authoritative voice and said, "just you try" as I out-stared him successfully.  More laughter from the pavement gang.  Mr. Cop was now at a bit of a loss.

"Where do you live?" he screeched.  I replied, "on a farm" he replied, "why is your car so dirty?", I replied "because I live on a farm, and I am on my way to 33 African Street to have my car washed, you are making me late, but perhaps you can direct me to 33 African Street?"  Mr. I-don't-know-driver's-rights looked at me and said, "okay, I won't arrest you, but I am fining you R500.00 which you can appeal down the road and don't stop for such a short time again."  He then proceeded to attempt to wipe my licence plate clean as he noted down my fine in his duplicate book. I agreed - to two things - to stop for a l-o-n-g time in Grahamstown, and agreed too, that I will most certainly be appealing my far too stiff sentence, with the approval of our least favourite traffic police employee.

With knees still shaking, I dropped off my car at the car wash, and walked to work.  I have as my ethos that every day, I have to learn some type of life lesson.  Today I have learnt two lessons - firstly, it IS possible to out-smart a cop and secondly, content for my blog does not appear to be a problem.