MEAN MEDIAN

MEAN MEDIAN

“Have you been drinking?” asked the officer, politely I might add, when he stopped me on

Broad Ripple Avenue

in Indianapolis, after I had turned west from Keystone. I was on my way home from a WISH-TV remote shoot, my usual Sunday morning beat.

“Drinking?” I said with a bit more hubris than is generally advisable when addressing a law enforcement officer. “It’s 9:30 in the morning.”

“When was the last time you had a drink?”

“I don’t remember.”

“That’s not a good sign, Sir.”

“That’s not what I mean. I think I had a beer three nights ago,” I stammered. Stammering, by the way, is not recommended during a situation like this.

The officer then explained that when I made my turn I “nicked the median with my front tire,” and that in his experience as a police officer, “this usually means the person has had a few too many.”

“Officer, this is silly. I’m not drunk. I’m just a lousy driver.” As you can see, I was having trouble saying precisely what I wanted to say. Another bad sign, by the way.

The officer went back to his car with my registration.  A few minutes later he retuned to my vehicle.  “May I ask if you have ever been arrested?”

“Arrested? Look, I know you’re doing your job, officer, but other than three days overdue at Blockbuster, I’ve never been in trouble in my life.”

“Sir, I am going to let you go, but based on your careless turn, I could give you a breathalyzer test to see if you are legally drunk.”

“If it’s legal, what’s the problem?”

(Author’s note: That last line I just made up. But the rest of the story is 100% true.)

When I got home, Mary Ellen asked me why I was so late. I told her that when I made a left turn off of Keystone I hit my front tire on the median and a cop pulled me over for being intoxicated.

“You do that all the time. Why didn’t you just tell him you’re a lousy driver?”

“I did tell him that.”

Mary Ellen burst out laughing. “I was just kidding. I can’t believe you said something that to a policeman.”

I called my friend Rob Butler, who sold me my car, and told him the story….

“That’s amazing. How do these things happen to you?” asked Rob. “And the funny part is, you’re a good driver.”

“I am?”

Of course not, I was just kidding”

The more I thought about this faulty left-hand turn, the more I wondered about my driving ability. So I went back to that corner and made the same maneuver multiple times. In nine out of ten attempts, I  was successful in negotiating that pesky strip that divides the street.

If I were a baseball player in the World Series, that would be a 900 average. But it wouldn’t be for hitting. It would be for missing.