Those of you familiar with Dallas, Texas may know that there is a peculiar freeway in that metropolis. The highway in question is a toll road, which runs literally for a few hundred feet. The toll is ten cents.
Once I pulled up to the unattended toll booth and deposited my dime as required. After receiving no confirmation of any kind, I determined that this toll road was likely the same as our Virginia variety, in that in the absence of any sign of life from the machinery, one simply proceeds. No sooner was I through the booth than a police car appeared and in my mirror. I could see the "Trooper" clearly marked on the top of his car. When the light flashed I pulled over and greeted the cop, who was most people's characterization of the Texas policeman, in my most congenial voice.
"You have to pay that toll, son," said he.
I protested for a few sentences about the unreliability of the machine, my status as a stranger in these parts, and so on. When I paused the cop looked me over carefully and announced that he was going to let me go.
"Plainly," he continued, "overall, you have respect for the law."
Not wanting to jeopardize my freedom, my curiosity nevertheless go the better of me. I asked how such an astute observation could have been made. Apparently, during our conversation I had referred to him as "Trooper," rather than "Officer." This was a status he fellow had apparently worked hard to achieve and was quite proud of.
It's the little things that count.
I 'gotta go,
DW