I have a lead foot. Well, it’s not really lead. I feel like maybe I should start there. I don’t have an aluminium foot, barely on the pedal, but it’s not really lead. It’s probably more like stainless steel.
I go maybe 10-12 kms over the speed limit. And yes, before you say it, that is speeding.
Might I point out that often enough I’m going with the flow of traffic? If I’m speeding, so is everyone else and I’m not sure that it’s safe or wise to not be going with the flow of traffic. A couple of times a year I’m going with the flow of traffic – more or less – and I don’t even notice. At least, until the envelope from the city arrives. With my ticket.
The ticket is invariably for 11 or 12 Kilometres over the speed limit, which is, as I admitted above, speeding. But again, in my defence, it’s the same speed everyone else is doing. More to the point, my city says that they are doing this to improve my safety . . . and the stats are sketchy on that point.
Broadly speaking, at known photo radar locations, speed tends to decrease over time, as more and more of us pay attention to the speedometer (and not the flow of traffic or the other drivers). This doesn’t necessarily mean that safety increases or that collision rates go down.
Which takes me to my point. Well, my intermediary point at any rate. The reality is that photo radar is a cash cow for the city and they are charging me for going with the flow. And I suppose fair ball to them, I ought to be an upstanding citizen who pays more attention to her speedometer and does not go with the flow. I ought to be this sort of person in the same way that I really ought to like cauliflower and I ought to meditate a bit more and I should really pay attention to my fibre consumption. I should do these things because I am an adult.
I suppose the genius in being an adult is that you can decide what you are actually going to focus on, which is, for me, things like running and having healthy relationships and going to bed a decent hour. I get a few speeding tickets a year. I’m sanguine about the whole thing.
But, as I stood with the ticket in my hand and for a moment, – a brief but glorious moment, I thought it was actually Mr. Spit’s ticket. I was not the culpable one. I did not waste the family finances and was not an irresponsible and perfidious adult. Heaven’s no.
A quick trip to the calendar put paid to that notion, I was indeed driving the car that day and my oh so helpful partner could tell me exactly where I had been and where I was coming from. He also pointed out that he sees them in that spot . . . often.
I may, just possibly, have done a bit of jumping up and down in sheer frustration. So close at being able to blame someone else.
I’m still going to get speeding tickets. I might want to be less blame-ish about it.