"No idea, officer. Just for a chat. Maybe?"
"Yeah. No. You know what speed you were doing."
"Yes, I do. It’s a 50kmh zone and I was doing just a tad over 49kmh."
"My instrument registered 55kmh."
"But can it be relied on, officer? Probably an inferior machine assembled by robots in some overseas workshop."
"I don’t know about that, sir. It was sent down from Wellington only last week and I’m told it can be relied on, but in this case, I’ll leave it as a warning. But I’ve got my eye on you."
"Probably very wise, officer. But we do hear so much of these machines being challenged in court and the tickets waived."
"I don’t wave tickets, sir. I hand them out in a firm, impersonal manner as all officers are trained to do."
"Understandable. Avoids the problem of watching drivers sobbing and begging for mercy."
"Don’t see too much of that. There’s the odd character who wants to get out of the car and give you a hiding.
"Now, sir, had anything to drink today?"
"Coffee this morning, though the quack tells me I should cut down on that."
"No alcohol?"
"No. He’s told me to cut down on that, too. Hardly worth living, is it?"
"Well, that’s entirely up to you, sir, but I’ll get you to blow into the machine anyway. That’s it. Blow! Blow! Blow! Keep blowing. Keep blowing. Harder. Right, thanks. You OK?"
"Just a bit faint after that. The old lungs aren’t what they used to be. I won the senior harriers cup at school, you know?"
"Small school, was it? Oops, sorry. Never insult the suspect my inspector tells me. He’s lost convictions after being a bit smart that way. Now, let’s see. The alcohol reading is OK, but nicotine is well into the red."
"Yeah, the doc nags me about giving up smoking as well."
"Sounds like a good idea. Now, those front tyres of yours look a bit dodgy."
"Yeah, probably due for new ones, but you know how it is on the pension. They’re an expensive item."
"Maybe, but I’m here to see you’re not driving around in a car that makes you a danger to others as well as risking your own life."
"Right. Well, I’ll get the tyres done first thing tomorrow."
"Not sure that’s good enough. I could take the car off the road right now."
"Hell, no. I can’t walk three miles home in this heat. What about a ride home?"
"I’m not running a taxi service, sir. Should have checked your tyres before you got into the car. Anyway, get them done tomorrow and we’ll say no more about it."
"Guarantee it. Even if it means borrowing cash from those sharks at the bank."
"It says on your licence you should be wearing glasses. I don’t see any."’
"Well, I’ve got contacts."
"Look, I don’t care who you know. You should be wearing glasses."
"I mean I’ve got contact lenses. Brand new and they’re great."
"Your licence says ‘eyes, blue’. They look brown to me."
"Well, you can get coloured contacts, you know."
"Rather flash for a struggling pensioner, I would have thought. Oh, just a moment. Can I have a look at that jacket you’re wearing. We’re coming down hard on you characters wearing gang insignia and you’re cruising around with a COBRA jacket. Pretty rough gang the Cobras. You’ll have heard about the big crayfish bust in Dunedin the other day. I’ll have to have sniff around in your car for drugs and crayfish."
"Drugs! Crayfish? You’re crazy. COBRA is the Central Otago Boating and Rowing Association. I’ve been a member for years."
"I see. Well, just a warning this time, but next time you’ll be losing your licence."
"Right, thanks. Might see you later. Mum was hoping you’d be over for dinner."
"Right. See you later then, Dad."
— Jim Sullivan is a Patearoa writer.
