All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
My Golden Ticket MAG
Let’s just say that today was not my day. It was six p.m. and I had already dealt with a flooded basement early in the morning, arrived at school late, and failed another math quiz. Now, I was late picking up my little sister Marissa from basketball practice. I sped to her school and pulling up, I honked to hurry her along.
“Marissa, would you move it, we’re going to be late for dinner and you know how Mom gets when we’re not on time,” I shouted.
“Hold your horses, missy,” she said as she did her trademark lackadaisical walk to the car. She slammed her chunky basketball shoes onto the dashboard and blasted her pop music.
“Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco,” she shouted into my face, raising my blood pressure.
I tried so hard to think about something other than hitting her with my hairbrush that when I looked at my speedometer, I realized I was going 50 miles per hour on a local road. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw bright red and blue lights, something I had hoped I would never see. I quickly veered to the side of the road, hoping and praying I wouldn’t get a ticket.
The police officer was tall and scrawny and actually had the cliché donut in one hand.
“Excuse me, Miss, do you know how fast you were going?” he asked calmly.
“Um, I think I was going about 35,” I stuttered timidly.
“Ha, more like 50. There are children out here playing. What were you thinking?” he exclaimed.
“Sir, I had no idea, I’m going a little crazy today, and this is just the icing on the cake,” I said, before going into detail about how terrible my day had been. I was trying to reach his inner soft spot where he could possibly feel some sympathy for me.
“Well, Tiffany, I’m going to give you a bit of sunshine in your cloudy day, I’m letting you off with a warning,” he said with a small smirk.
“Thank you so much, Officer. You don’t know how much this means to me!” I shouted with joy.
“Just remember: if you drive 25 you will keep kids alive,” he said before walking back to his vehicle.
I got home just in time for my mom’s spaghetti and meatballs, my favorite dish. Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.