I got my first ticket in 1969. I was driving from work, down the access road between Chamblee Dunwoody Road and Savoy Drive. I had a 1968 Austin Healey Sprite, yellow in color. I was the coolest guy at the Sing Food Store, where I worked. There were only two of us that night and the other guy’s license was suspended, so that made me the coolest guy by default.
I drove out of the parking lot, turned right and headed down the hill toward my house. My friend was behind me. We hit the access road and I remember looking at the speedometer as it hit about 60 mph. It was summer and I had the convertible top down and enjoying the breeze as it hit my coolness.
Just as I got that really nice, laid-back feeling, thinking about what we were going to do that night (remember, this was back when we were young enough to stay up past 10 p.m.), I saw the blue lights behind me. I never saw the cop. My buddy didn’t, either.
Twenty minutes later, minus any coolness we’d accumulated earlier, we