STRANGER THAN FICTION: SPEEDING DOWN LIFE'S HIGHWAYS HAS AN EXPENSIVE DOWNSIDE

What kind of sadist would give a speeding ticket to a disheveled woman in tears?

After years of speeding with reckless abandon, a Florida Highway Patrol trooper took the wind out of my sails. Permanently.

By the time I finish paying a $165 speeding ticket and another $75 or so for traffic school, the little old ladies whose heads barely stick up over the steering wheel -- they have a fairly large representation here in the Sunshine State -- will fly by yelling, "Outta my way, sucka!"

Not that I'm entirely unfamiliar with the speeding ticket process. I got my first one within weeks of getting my driver's license.

It was the worst possible scenario. My grandmother was in the car, and we were cruising back from Cape Girardeau to my native Sikeston on Interstate 55. The wind blew through my hair, the radio was on and Grammy was by my side. Life was good.

There's no feeling quite like seeing flashing red and blue lights behind you when your grandmother is in the car. Ends up I was doing 65 mph instead of the legal 55 mph and scored a big ticket. I swore my grandmother to secrecy, deciding to pay it without a word to Mom and Dad.

Said parents were actually IN THE DOORWAY when I arrived home -- never a good sign. Seems my dad's co-worker was passing by on the interstate when I was having my unfortunate encounter with Missouri's finest. I'll never forgive that loudmouthed tattletale as long as I live.

You'd think the hour-long lecture on accidents, revoked licenses and insurance rates -- not necessarily in that order -- would have been enough to cool my heels for good. But it's wasn't.

The next ticket came in the line of duty. While on my way to interview a highway patrolman about the region's new drug-detecting dog, another highway patrolman nabbed me doing 10 mph over the speed limit. The dog handler, apparently listening to his scanner during the wait, was laughing his head off when I got there.

Last week's "I-fought-the-law-and-the-law won" experience was particularly painful because I wasn't tossing caution to the wind and flagrantly defying the speed limit in my haste to get somewhere. The Other Half was out of town on business for the week, and a tear of longing actually escaped my eyeball when I noticed the flashing lights in the rearview mirror.

By the time Mr. Patrolman reached the car, there was no saving me. I bawled like a baby. My man was out of town, and now I'd probably fall victim to police brutality of some sort.

When you're sitting there sweating in the Florida heat, your clothes rumpled because you were too depressed to iron, your mascara running down your cheeks and your hair collapsed thanks to the humidity, you're NOT going to use feminine wiles to get out of a ticket.

Ends up tears don't work either.

The good thing is that I can go to traffic school and not get any points on my license. Florida laws says the insurance companies can't cancel you for tickets if you go to the school.

So sometime in the next 90 days, I'll spend four hours listening to some shriveled instructor tell me how to read a sign that says "Speed Limit 55."

A REALLY helpful school would offer a class called, "How A Wonderbra Can Save You Big Bucks In Traffic Fines."

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who now lives in Pensacola, Fla.