Destination: 2003 World Foosball Championship at the Dallas/FtWorth airport in Texas.
$135G on the line at the home of Tornado Foosball tables.
Thursday, August 28 – Monday, September 1, 2003
Weather report: remnants of Tropical Storm Grace. Chance of wet. August 2003 is historically wet. 10.68 inches of rain reported at the DFW Airport.
The ride down was more eventful than it should have been.
Since I am driving instead of flying, I decide to bring an ounce of weed with me.
Figure I can sell it or trade for a place to stay since marijuana is illegal in Texas.
Also, people don’t want to travel with it through airport security, especially after 9-11, so there is an added demand for herb.
Cruising south through Kansas, I pass an on-ramp with 5-state trooper cars sitting and waiting.
Fortunately, I am going the speed limit and the herb is put a way.
No cars enter the highway to follow me.
About 10-miles down the highway, with the rear view mirror clear, I decide that that I probably will not see another police car while in Kansas for a moment.
A pre-rolled joint for the journey is smoked.
Windows rolled down. Legally cruising along at the max speed limit. Hardly a car on this 4-lane highway. Road conditions this day are good.
As the flow of traffic goes, a car doing a few more miles over the speed limit catches up with me.
I am also gaining on a car in front me that is doing 10-miles per hour under the speed limit.
Turns out this car in front of me is a state trooper.
Turns out it’s a K9 unit.
As matter of habit, I scan my seats and ash-tray to make sure nothing is incriminating in the off chance that I get pulled over.
Not sure on what to do with passing a state trooper, the car behind me passes me and then pass the slow moving police vehicle.
“Well, hell, I can’t look guilty,” I think and follow the other car.
This was the wrong move.
(Probably my only move, but still not a good answer.)
After passing the state trooper K9 unit, I am quickly pulled over.
“Whelp, let’s see if I can keep my cool,” I tell myself while lighting a cigarette and cracking the windows. Need to get the weed smell out of the car.
Going to jail would definitely be a problem for attending this foosball tournament.
Depending on the laws of the land, getting back to work next week might be a bigger problem!
In the rear view mirror, the state trooper approaches on the passenger side of the Buick. The mirror also reveals that the canine is very active and excited in its kennel in the police vehicle.
Passenger window is rolled down to chat with the state patrol.
“Sir do you know why I am pulling you over?” state patrol asks.
“No,” I say.
“You have a major crack in your wind shield,” state patrol says pointing to the crack stretching across the upper 8th of the windshield.
The crack hadn’t really obstructed my view of driving, so I did not pay it much attention to it.
I have driven worse.
This gigantic crack spreads across the whole windshield.
“You are right. That should be replaced,” I agree.
“Where are you going?” state patrol asks.
“World Foosball Tour in Dallas!” I answer.
“Professional foosball!?” state trooper laughs.
“The best on the Tornado foosball table show up from all over the world” I inform him.
The state trooper is amused.
“Can I get your license?”
“No problem,” I comply.
Aside from being super-stoned, I have no warrants. I still have a CDL truck driver designation on my license. This is favorable if I can just act travel-casual.
With my most “casual” movement, stoned out-of-my-mind, I pass my license to state patrol.
My hand is borderline-shaking.
State trooper goes back to his vehicle.
K9 still pacing in its kennel.
It is a long wait that probably isn’t that long.
The state trooper walks back to the Buick.
“You need to fix that windshield,” state trooper says. “But I am not going to give you a ticket.”
He hands me back my license.
“Also, good luck with the foosball tournament!”
I drive off.
Lil shaky from weed-anxiety and a police encounter.
I turn up the tunes.
The Kinks are jamming, “Living on a Thin Line.”
That situation could have went multiple ways.
A few miles down the highway I realize professional foosball may have kept me out of jail.
Because of the humor of its obscurity.
