Sirens

I was supposed to be starting some door-to-door ministry Sunday just gone, and I was also giving sermons on both the Saturday and the Sunday. So, having wrestled vainly with my malfunctioning computer, I departed on the Sunday with three half-printed sermons (all different sermons) and some misprinted tracts and questionairres. The church I was speaking at was over an hour away and I had had about 3-4 hours sleep max the night before so it took me about ten minutes to realise I was driving the wrong direction in my recently purchased car.

Disclaimer:
The story you are about to hear may include some Hollywood dramatisation, as such any reference to guns, explosions and ninja grandmothers should be thoroughly disregarded.

I sped up, intent on reaching the next intersection, turning round and coming back. It was at this time that I saw the flashing. To clarify, the flashing I mention here has nothing to do with trenchcoats, in fact such flashers fear this flashing. It was the blue and red kind. The kind of flashing that makes a patriotic American, Englishman, Frenchman or half-Scot half-Canadian man's blood start to pump faster.

Instinct had made me pull-over, the desire to obey the law of the land, blend with these alien people had become strong. But I had alot to lose here, people were counting on me... good people... Christian people. I glanced in the rearview mirror, my hand shivering over the ignition. The colonial magistrate had exited his cruiser, his hand resting lightly on his hip, his pistol loose and in it's holster. I glanced back at the dashboard clock, time was counting down. My eye's flickered nervously from the mirror to my Bible resting on the seat beside me, my foot rested lightly on the gas pedal. The officer was at my window, the moment of opportunity was gone.

His revolver tapped lightly on my window, I pressed the button to roll it down... nothing happened... The officer stepped back bracing his desert eagle .50 in both hands, shouting rough demands.

I turned the ignition.

The car burst to life, engine revving, music blaring... now window would roll down. I looked down the top of the barrel of his shotgun, no hint of fear in my eyes.

"Officer...?" My voice was calm, like a leaf on the wind.

"Sir, I pulled you over for speeding, you were doing 77 in a 50 zone." His tone spoke volumes, polite and unassuming, he was going to play with me.

"Is that so?" My voice was smooth like well blended instant gravy.

"It is."

"I see."

"Quite."

"Indeed."

"Lisence, registration and insurance please." The lawman gestured expectantly at my glove-compartment with his sub-machine gun.

"I only have my license..." My voice was gritty and gratting, like Horatio Kane having just arrived at a Crime Scene and put his sun-glasses to the corner of his mouth.

"I see."

"Yes."

"Quite."

"Indeed."

The officer tipped the top of his hat with his M4, glanced around for possible threats then headed back to his cruiser. The minutes were like hours. I could see the time trickling away. The good people... Christian people, crying out in anguish in my absence. The officer returned to my vehicle, and rested the end of his sniper rifle on my wing mirror.

"This your vehicle?" I nodded at his question, it didn't deserve a spoken response. He nodded to himself before continuing, "How long you had it?"

"I registered it three days ago..." My voice was rough but forceful, like a gorilla choking on bamboo. The officer pointed with his flamethrower.

"Those your plates?" I thought about reaching for my Bible but knew I wouldn't make it before he had his gatling gun pelting round after round of cold hard lead into my body.

"No... I haven't had a chance to change them* since getting this car, they're rusted on." My voice was deep and rumbling, like a herd of howling wombats stampeding at dawn.

"I see."

"Yes."

"Quite."

"Indeed."

"Driving with the wrong plates requires me to tow your vehicle and issue a five-thousand dollar fine, sir." He pursed his lips while I suffered a mild heart-attack. Then he wandered around to the front of the car and tapped at the plates. He took out his RPG and fired off a few rounds, the explosion killing a passing elderly female ninja... the plates however, didn't budge. He came back round to the front of the car. "Tell you what I'm going to do, I'm going to get you towed, but not to the pound. I'll get you towed back home where your car will stay until you get those plates sorted. Some sort of small nuclear device should do the trick, I'm raiding some terrorists with the lads later on this evening and I'll let you know if I get one. In the mean time though I have to give you your speeding ticket along with tickets for failing to surrender your insurance and registration documents..." The officer took a breath and levelled his plasma cannon at me along with a meaningful stare, "We clear?"

I woke up in the ER in time to ply off my plates with a hammer. Duck-tape on my new ones and give a 1 and a half hour late sermon. The End...


*License plates are assigned to the people not the cars in Canada...