On Seymour Street, I saw the flashing light behind me, but I didn't worry. It was my daughter's birthday, and I was thinking about the fifteen fifteen-year-olds who would soon descend on the house. I had to get back to Surrey fast, to finish organizing the pizza and cake.
When the cop car stayed on my tail, lights flashing, I was puzzled but still unconcerned. Why should the police be interested in me? As the siren began to wail, I pulled over. There must be some mistake.
"Your car insurance is expired," said the cop.
"No way," My comment expressed astonishment rather than denial, and he understood that.
He nodded, and said laconically, "Way."
Flustered, I asked, "What am I going to do?"
He pointed down the block. "See the entrance to that parking lot?"
It was my turn to nod.
"Drive in there, slowly. Then get out of the car and go renew your insurance."
I breathed a sigh of relief as I followed his instructions and parked the car. He could have really thrown the book at me, but he didn't even give me a ticket.
When I found an insurance agent, I explained my predicament. I was not allowed to move the car until I had renewed the insurance.
The agent prepared the papers. As I signed them, he added, "Now, since you own the car jointly, we also need your husband's signature." Oops again. I was in downtown Vancouver, but my husband was in Surrey.
Luckily he was still at home, and he answered his cell on the first ring. The insurance agent faxed him the papers, which he signed and faxed back. It was all done in ten minutes. Lucky again.
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