You never start
your day thinking you’ll pay your own bail by the end of it.
It all started
normal enough. I am perpetually running late for things, so it isn’t all that
rare to see me walking into a class five to thirty minutes behind schedule. I
think it’s a trait I got from my mom, but that’s also just something I say to
rest part of the blame on someone other than myself, which is undeserved, but
it helps me sleep better at night.
So, in order to
offset my tardiness, I always skateboard to school. Riding a skateboard on
campus is the BYU equivalent of a scarlet A on your chest. It is a little like
having a beard on campus without the possible justification of a beard card
(although if a skateboard card existed, I can think of no candidate more in need
of it than myself). But I run into a similar dilemma every day. I have a very
weighty conscience; the kind of conscience that not only brings shame in the
moment of disobedience, but holds to that shame long after the event has
passed. So while I love skateboarding and being able to get to campus quickly,
each kick to the pavement provides a simultaneous jolt to my conscience. As I
weave through the crowds of watchful bystanders, I oft times contemplate my
commitment to the principles of obedience and reprimand myself for giving in to
my “natural man.” Probably not what most people expect a skateboarder is
thinking about as they cruise by, but nonetheless, a truth in my life.
I had just
turned in an essay for the David O. McKay Essay Contest (ironically, a
religious essay contest), and was in a hurry to make it to my 2:00pm Calculus
class. Turning to my faithful vice and friend, I jumped onto my skateboard and
sped down the access street that connects the JSB to the JKB. As I rounded the
corner to the JKB, I saw a figure that constitutes the embodiment of my
conscience: a BYU Police Officer.
The instant I
saw him, I knew my fate. I felt like a child covered in crumbs, debating
between telling the complete truth or fabricating an elaborate lie about why eating
the last of the cookies was not entirely my fault. I decided even before
getting to him that I would tell the whole truth and be accountable for my
actions. Without even motioning to me, I glided towards him, the John Proctor
of skateboarding, ready to face the consequences
Me: Hello,
Officer.
Officer: Hello,
friend. You already know what I’m going to say, don’t you.
Me: I’m afraid
so.
Officer: Do you
know the rules about skateboarding?
Me: Yes.
Officer: Have
you been warned before?
Me: Yes.
Officer: Do you
skateboard on campus often still?
Me: Every day,
sir.
Officer: Is
there any reason I shouldn’t write you this ticket?
Me: Honestly,
sir, not that I can justify.
I think my
honesty caught him off guard. He was a kind man, and I could tell that he was
conflicted about giving a ticket, the way another seasoned officer like himself
probably wouldn’t be. He reluctantly started writing the ticket, making jokes
and small talk in between his condemning pen strokes.
As he performed
the routine background check, something changed. He whispered something in his
walkie-talkie, and a minute later, just as I felt it was almost over, a police
car pulled onto the sidewalk.
“Did you know
there is a warrant out for your arrest for not appearing in traffic court?”
The words struck
fear to my very core. It came back to me instantly, though the thought of the
ticket had been erased from my memory entirely until that moment. My officer
friend took me into his car and escorted me from campus to the police station
to pay my bail.
Simple lesson:
When you know something is wrong, don’t do it.
Ha ha sorry about laughing, but it is pretty funny. Writing-wise, you had a good balance between detail and still keeping it to the point. I also really liked the dialogue, which made the situation seem more real to me.
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