Vulture of The Western World
A Smokey & The Bandit Experience
The following is a purely fictional account...
A guy I know happened to be driving down to the gym the other day, to work off some stress. He had his radar detector on, but the car he was in happened to be one of those cars that has numerous ssssssssaaaaaaaaaaaaaafety systems that emit their own constant radar signature, which means the detector is constantly beeping false alarms. So he had turned down the volume and - worse - wasn't paying as much attention to the displays.
At which point pork appeared.
Off on the shoulder, a tawny colored unmarked swinemobile.
Lurking, waiting. There to entrap harming-no-one drivers for the manufactured crime of "speeding."
The guy I know was doing that, abundantly.
He was faced with a split-second decision. Either supinely slow and pull off - and meekly accept being financially punished for not having caused harm to anyone - or put the hammer down and register a vote for screw you.
The second option seemed better.
What is styled a "ticket" is compound theft. First, your money is stolen by the two-legged porker, on behalf of the city, county or state he works for. It is not a small sum. Usually at least $100 - plus "court costs" - which is a double outrage. It is like being charged a special add-on fee by the checkout girl at the supermarket for deigning to handle your money. But at least at the supermarket you are getting something for your money.
But of course it doesn't end there. The secondary theft comes via the insurance mafia - which we're forced to do "business" with, so they can charge whatever they like and for whatever reason. We can't (legally) say no.
Doesn't matter that you've never filed a claim or incurred any costs. As with the "ticket" itself, we are dealing with manufactured excuses to separate you from your money. All nice and legal.
Since we aren't allowed to say no - and not having harmed anyone or anything isn't a viable defense in court - our only viable option is to drop the hammer, circumstances permitting.
Which, in this case, they did.
First, the guy was already moving - and at a speedy clip - while the roadside hog was still stationary. There would several invaluable seconds before his cloven hoofs could bring him up to speed.
By which time, the guy would have achieved visual separation. This is absolutely critical.
Out of sight is halfway to out of reach.
Our guy used those invaluable seconds to disappear down one of the many available backwoods roads that diverged from the main road he'd been on. The more distance he could put between him and his oinky antagonist, the harder it would be for the snout of said oinker to huff the scent.
Now, to ground.
Hunker down - and wait awhile.
Which our guy did.
The duration of this hunkering down period will vary with circumstances. If it is an absolutely safe spot (not someone you don't know's driveway, as a for-instance) and you can call a friend to come get you, do that. Leave the car, go get it later.
Our guy wasn't so positioned and so, after what seemed a reasonable interval, ventured cautiously back onto the main road. The coast seemed clear, so he resumed his journey.
This happy illusion dissipated about 5 minutes later, when - coming the other way, in the opposite lane - the same tawny-colored swinewagon, backtracking after its fruitless pursuit.
This encounter, luckily for our man, took place at the top of a steeply descending series of s turns, which our protagonist took full advantage of. The oink would have to stop/turn and recover his speed. By which time our guy was - once again - gone.
Go to ground, hunker down.
This time for a good long while.
A porker went hungry.
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