Walking briskly away from a job interview with a slightly smug grin on my face and confident saunter derived from the knowledge that I had just aced an interview, I head towards the metro. I cross one street with the walking man, my career-making heels tapping briskly on the sidewalk. I reach the next street, a one way. The red hand is up, so I look towards traffic. It’s a good four blocks away and my metro station is just across the narrow street. I cross.
"Miss. Miss," I hear a soft voice say behind me. I keep trucking, sure it’s not for me.
"MISS!" I hear the voice more forcefully, like a child trying to express their independence. I cross the street and slightly turn my head.
A short, chubby police officer steps into the street. He pulls his hand out of his belt buckle, pushing back the gelatinous bulge hanging over his waist, and beckons to me. I look back towards traffic. It’s only a few feet away.
"Don’t you want me to wait until traffic’s cleared?" I ask.
He shakes his head and continues to beckon, blocking traffic with his steadfast stance in the street. I shake me head in astonishment and clip-clap back across. He follows.
"Do you know why you’ve just been stopped?"
I look back to the big, red hand on the light about, and suddenly it dawns on me.
As my inner self says in humorous disbelief, you have got to be fucking shitting me. My outer self replies, "Probably because I was jay-walking, sir."
He starts writing on his pad.
"Some form of I.D."
I contemplate giving him my school I.D., just to fuck with him. I hand him my license.
As he’s filling out the ticket, people pass on the left and right, staring at the gal in a business suit. I smile and try to look amused, if only to show them that I am not, in fact, a high class prostitute. It might have worked.
He rips off the ticket and hands it to me.
"Mail $20 to the address at the top of the ticket in 10 days, or attend traffic court and contest the ticket."
I take it from him and return to the curb, waiting for the walking man to reappear, even though there aren’t any cars for at least 7 blocks. I count 1… 2… 3 people crossing the street. I look back to the cop and see him shifting his glance from me to the 1st person to cross.
"Sir, please step over here. Do you know why you’ve been stopped?" he asks.