Food Service Confessions Pt. I

It was 4:45 am on one of the most humid days in the recorded history of Long Island, about 20 minutes after I peeled myself off of the bed in the Long Beach apartment I shared with Janine, that I was charging north on the parkway at 106 mph; and the lights came on behind me. "Pull it over NOW, MAN!" The cop wasted no time before getting on the horn, he was out for blood. In my rear view I saw his car dancing around the lanes back there, he was begging me to run, he probably thought he had himself another D.W.I.; it was the crack of dawn on a summer Saturday in New York.
(Radio off, Belt on, Pull over, Park, Engine off, Leave keys in, Window down, Cab light on, Hands on wheel.)"What's yer problem, pal?" was the first thing he said, "You know how fast you were goin'?"
(Yes, The road was completely empty, if I had hurt anyone it would have been only myself, and even the State Police can't save me from that.) "Officer," I start "I know there's no excuse, but please, hear me out."
"Talk fast!" he goes.
"I just came from the hospital, where I spent the night watching over my girl, who has cancer, and I'm late for work, and I'm really stressed and if you can just gimme a break you won't even see me here again..."
"Where you work?"
"Garden City Hotel, sir."
"Garden City, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Walter June still work there?"
"Hell, yes, Officer; Walter is my sous chef."
"Awright; slow the fuck down!"
"Yes, sir."
"Have a nice day!"

"You too, Officer."