gift from the universe

Traffic patterns around here are fairly predictable, as they are in most metropolitan areas. Miss your departure window by five minutes, and you can easily add 30 minutes to your commute.

They're predictable on the weekdays, that is. On weekends? All bets are off. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it; I've tried to figure it out. That's what I do. I'm a figure-outer.

This lack of predictability can be an issue when I need to get to work for an operation. For a surgery to happen on a weekend, a series of events are set into motion, all starting with me. First, I talk to the charge nurse for the hospital. I tell her the name of the patient, the surgery we're going to do, and when I want to do it. Then she calls the operating room team, which consists of a recovery room nurse, a circulating nurse and a scrub tech. Then she calls the anesthesiologist to tell him/her when the surgery is.

I have an issue with being late. Chronic lateness implies that you think you and your time is more important than everyone else's. (Yes, I have many issues with the President's lateness. It's disrespectful.) But when I book a surgery on the weekend, I am positively neurotic about being late. These four other people have lots of other things they'd rather be doing than waiting for my ass to get to the OR.

Recently, I did have to do an operation on the weekend. I left my house with about 20 minutes to spare; a good practice on the weekend considering traffic. But this particular day, everyone was driving like idiots. Under the posted speed limit. Slow cars in the fast lane. Lots of cars out in general.

So in an attempt to not be late and show disrespect for my colleagues, I was kinda weaving in and out of traffic a bit. 100 yards from my exit, I get pulled over. I was stopped for three reasons: following too closely and two unsafe lane changes. Then I was asked if I had a reason for driving like that. I told him I was trying to get to the hospital because I needed to do a procedure. He asked me if I was a doctor (I was in scrubs). When I said yes, he asked to see my medical license. He scolded me a little, reminded me that I have likely seen the results of really bad accidents, and to be more careful.

And he let me go. That almost never happens out here, especially given how much money the state needs. I thanked him profusely.

Ever get out of a ticket? How'd ya do it?