I was driving home the other night, alone, in a neighborhood of questionable safety and fairly empty streets. Given the circumstances, I was obeying the principles of good defensive driving– this consisted of speeding now and asking “Where the hell am I?” later, as [almost] everyone knows that show anything other than total commitment to your route is an open door for the carjackers. (Encounters with whom usually involve weapons, broken windows, and likely injury!)
Anyway, as I sped through the dark, deserted streets I came upon a main artery and finally a landmark. I finally located a spot to make a “U” turn and prayed that I was heading toward home, since there is no ocean, river, or quadrant system to guide me. I turned around and lo and behold: the first police checkpoint of my tour.
Of course, I can’t just get waved through the checkpoint, because I have faded paper VA temporary plates on my car. do display my “plate” (consisting of a sheet of paper with some gibberish on it) in my windshield, he pulled me over anyway. With confidence, I identified myself and my affiliation, dug out my cedula and assumed that as soon as he heard my gringa accent and saw my blue eyes he would just let me pass. No such luck.
He was now in possession of my diplomatic ID (which took a long time to get) and my paper plates. I contemplated my next move. What was he thinking? Should I call the switchboard and make him talk to Post One? I explained that they had not issued me real plates and were doing these instead. I kicked myself for being in this neighborhood after dark.
The conversation went a little like this:
El: “Where are you going?”
Yo: “To my house.”
El: “Doesn’t it scare you to drive alone?”
Yo: “Ehhhhh. A little, maybe? [Not until you pulled me over, guy!]“
El: “You’re American”
Yo: “Yes.”
El: “And you live here with your husband, you’re both Americans?”
Yo: Sure.
El: “And your husband is a diplomat for the U.S. Consulate?”
Yo: …. Yes (?)
El: “And your husband is waiting for you at home?”
Yo: “Oh yes! Of course.”
El: “You really shouldn’t be driving here after dark, it’s not safe. Tell him he should not let you drive alone and go home quickly.”
Throughout the encounter, I vacillated briefly between being an appalled feminist (because OF COURSE a single woman couldn’t possibly be a diplomat and/or live alone without the help of a man) and a pragmatic survivalist. In this circumstance, I am glad my practical side instinctively won out as it was probably better in the long run to lead this guy into believing that yes, someone will miss me if he does not let me go and I do not get home in the next 15 minutes. It would also save a lot of explaining to a middle-aged, completely incredulous transit policeman that yes, women have in fact been serving in the US Diplomatic Corps for a while now (even longer than married women have!)
Just another day in the life…
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