Avoiding Crisis

multa schmulta, take 2

with one comment

I’ve received a few emails today from readers of this here blog, some had read the original post #184 and wanted to know why I took it down and others just wanted to know what was so bad about it that I thought it needed to come down.  I feel that I need to explain.

To be honest, it wasn’t anything SO awful.  I didn’t make any really mean and/or hurtful statements.  I just wrote some stuff that could someday, somewhere, when we least expect it, come back to bite my family in the ass.  I needed someone older and wiser than me to point that out – thanks B.

Here’s the thing.  I was trying to be funny.  I was trying to be bigger than I really am.  Write something a bit over the top.  I came across as arrogant.  I screamed from the top of my lungs that I was special and I made sure that everyone knew it.  It wasn’t my finest moment.  (Though it was kinda funny.)

Sometimes, though, a little bit of self-censorship is a good thing.

So, while the original was much much funnier and had a whole lot more snark, what follows is the story of what happened to me yesterday afternoon sans my unnecessary commentary about the Argentine police and it’s government.

In other words, here’s the much more grown-up and mature version of the story.


I know I’ve been lame with the blogging this week. It’s been a kinda lame week. Busy, but totally uneventful and really not blog worthy. 

Until yesterday….

My daughter had a play-date immediately after school. My lunch date was canceled. That left me and my son to fend for ourselves. This doesn’t happen too often so I thought we’d have some fun.

I had a terrific idea. Why not go into the city and have lunch with dad? It’s rare that my little guy gets to venture into the great big city with me, so I thought it would be a nice treat for him (and for my husband too).

We had quite an adventure. I’ll start from the beginning.

I called my husband around 11:30 and asked him what he was doing in about an hour. Nothing. Good. “We’re coming for lunch,” I announced. Just me and the boy.

I got the lunches ready. Left over Mac ‘n Cheese for the little one and some Rotisserie Chicken for me. Juice box and water. Two forks and napkins. Cookies for desert. And just in case we were a bit cranky on the ride downtown some extra cookies for the car. All set. I put everything in a nice little lunch tote.

Next step, grab a change of clothes for my daughter (she wears a uniform to school) and a Tropicana Orange Juice Box (the only type of juice box she will drink). Get a bag. Put clothes and juice box in bag. Worry that she won’t want to go on her play-date. That she’s going to want to come home and watch TV and not be social and play with her friends. Worry that she’s not going to want to go with the other mom if she sees me at the school picking up her brother. Worry because that’s what mom’s do when they have a shy and very sensitive child. Worry.

Check the clock. 11:50! Must. Leave. Now.

11:52 arrive at school (it’s only four blocks from the house…and yes, I drove! Got something to say about that?)

Get to school. Pick up son. Check on daughter. Swap school backpack with play-date backpack. She says she doesn’t want to go to her play-date. Why? No reason. She wants to stay with me. I tell her about the clothes (which includes a skirt) and her favorite juice box. The teacher helps me out. Hesitant and apprehensive she finally changes her mind. She goes with her friend. I worry.

Owen and I get in the car. We are off to the Embassy. I realize I left my Embassy ID at home. I ALWAYS show up at the Embassy without my ID and it’s a pain in the ass to get through security and get a visitors badge.  Since I didn’t want to have to deal with that again, I called my house and told my maid where to find my ID and asked her to meet me outside so that I wouldn’t have to get out of the car (I know. I’m SO lazy. You’d do the same if you were me.)

Ah. Great. Finally. Ready.

A mile down the road and the adorable little boy in the backseat looks like he’s about to fall asleep. I put on some annoying fun kid music. I then call my husband and put him on speaker phone – that usually gets the little guy’s attention. Not really working. Give him a bottle of water. BINGO! The little tyke was thirsty.

I continue chatting with my husband. I don’t notice the two cops on motorcycles following me. I do, however, notice it when one of them pulls up aside my car and waves at me to pull over.

Apparently talking on the cell phone while driving is not allowed. Big No No.

I pull over.

And I think to myself….

I don’t get tickets. I don’t get pulled over. I don’t deal with cops. My husband deals with cops, that’s his job. To deal with cops. My job is to drive my big American gas guzzling SUV around and take care of my kids.

AND, in case you didn’t know, I was on the speaker phone. And don’t you see that I have a cute little boy in the back who is going to have lunch with his daddy and that you are going to make us late. And if you make that adorable little boy cry then, well, you suck!

License and registration please, he asks very fast, somewhat mumbled Spanish that definitely tested my level of comprehension. I open the glove compartment searching for anything that looks like registration since I have absolutely no clue what an Argentine registration looks like. I find some yellow registration-looking thing and hand it to him.

I smile.

You’re just going to give me a warning, right? 

I smile some more.

He waits.  Okay.  If you must continue with this, then, please, here’s my license too.

I smile.

Senorita, he says, still mumbling, you know that you aren’t supposed to talk on the cell phone while driving. I nod. Yes, I did know.

There, I’ve admitted my guilt.  I was honest.  That has to be worth something.  A slap on the wrist, maybe?

Did I forget to mention that I was on speaker phone. Apparently not since I don’t know how to say speaker phone in Spanish. But that didn’t matter. He wasn’t REALLY going to give me a ticket.    

Ah. Yup. He gave me a ticket.

But you know what was even worse? Realizing that I forgot the lunch tote and therefore had absolutely nothing for my dear son to eat. I was getting a ticket AND now my son was going to starve. Ahhhhhhhh. It was a bad mommy moment.

Thankfully there is a cafeteria in the Embassy and they had Spaghetti! Two-year-olds like spaghetti.

I on the other hand, I don’t like cafeteria food. I went to the commissary to see what they had. So of course, in addition to picking up a can of soup, I also had to get another bag of crunchy Cheetos and a Kit Kat, ’cause my god, I haven’t had a Kit Kat in like a year and golly gee I sure do like Kit Kats. The Kit Kat almost made me forget about my damn ticket.

Oh well. It could have been worse. You have to always look on the brighter side, right?

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Written by nicolemarie

May 18, 2007 at 4:52 pm

One Response

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  1. Well, I missed the original. . .but sucks to get a ticket!

    Dawn

    May 19, 2007 at 10:01 am


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