Legal-(not-so)-ease

Yesterday I went through a seatbelt checkpoint. Twice. Once coming, and the other time going.
The police officer arched his eyebrow in suprise when he looked in my car, in front of my car, and behind my car. "Well, you're all legal," he proclaimed as he smiled at me, almost in disbelief. What's more, I looked all legal, since I was wearing a conservative, black, legal-looking suit under my fastened seatbelt. He gave me a handy card about seat-belt wearing. Obviously this stop is not so much about seat belts. It's about whether you're all legal. It takes a lot to be all legal: yearly inspections, yearly license registration, current driver's license, seatbelts, money for all those things, and, definitely, a pleasant attitude when you greet the police. Oh, and you can't be all bleary-eyed or smell faintly of alcohol or smoke. There's a wide-open invite to the police to suspect that you're not all legal. As I drove away I mused at myself for being so legal. I think I went back through that way a second time just to prove to myself how legal I am. Or maybe to be glad I wasn't in one of the cars that had been pulled aside.