On our driveway sat our 1990 4runner, body frosted and windows frozen over. Watching my breath freeze before me, I started up the vehicle and began scraping all the windows with an ice scraper I had plucked from the cab. Satisfied that I could see clearly through the windshield and with the cold seeping into my bones, I hopped in the vehicle and headed towards work.

As a data analyst and systems specialist in an information technology specific job, my mind started to think towards the wonderful work load before me and prepare myself by crafting internal SQL statements and planning potentially useful algorithms. Whistling to myself as I drove I rounded a corner and got a full dose of beautiful sunshine. Though my warmed face welcomed the sun’s light, my windshield however did not.

It started slowly at first but soon a freezing fog ebbed and flowed across the glass. Having lived my entire life in seasonal States, places where cold weather and winter actually takes place, I implemented the standard operating procedure for the area. This technique has many names, but all my friends and family call it the “Granny” technique. Now I know what you are thinking, “This sounds difficult”. And to some it very well may be. But fear not, I have a step-by-step guide on how this driving stance is attained and performed.

First, while sitting in your vehicle’s driver seat, grip the steering wheel with both hands at the ten and two positions. Next, straighten up and sit to your full height (In my case 5′10). Then, hunch your shoulders forward and get your head and eyes aligned to where they are barely hovering over the dash. Finally, decrease speed to where you are driving your vehicle five miles per hour below posted speed limit.

And it was in this driving stance that I happened upon a local motorcyclist about to enter the round-a-bout exactly as I was exiting. Thankful that I was able to see the smaller vehicle so clearly and that I had been diligent enough to implement the “Granny” technique so early, I politely signaled as I turned and drove down my required road. Behind me, I saw the motorcyclist do a u-turn in the middle of the round-a-about (a technique that does not look safe, but that I have committed myself to later learning) and with the sudden flashing of the red and blues attached to the bike, I knew then that I was being pulled over. Pulling off and parking on the side of the road, I eagerly awaited the arrival of our fine civil servant.

A knock occurred on glass but not where I expected. Instead of the driver’s side, the officer had approached on the opposite side of the vehicle, so the sound entering into my ears had originated from the wrapping of gloved knuckles against the passenger window. Using the robust and competent automatic windows of our twenty-year-old vehicle, the glass slowly lowered itself in extremely small steps. Creaking and groaning while it crawled its descent, it revealed the smile-less face of a helmeted motorcycle cop in stuttering stages.

“So my question is-” the law enforcement officer started “-how in the world can you see out your window?”

Not to be brought down or have my day dampened by his demeanor and with sparkling exuberance still in my voice, I replied.

“I didn’t grow up in California sir, I grew up in the Northwest and I can easily see”

“You can see?”

“I can see.”

“Sitting like that you can see the roadway clearly?”

“Yes-” still hunched from the holding of the finely honed Granny technique. “-sitting like this, I can see the roadway clearly.”

Now I hate to judge but I do think the gentlemen could have potentially woken up on the wrong side of the bed. And maybe because of this, the powerful observation and deductive skills required of any police officer may have been fully unrealized so early in the morning. But being helpful, I decided a proactive response is what was needed.

“Do you see my ice scraper?” helpfully flicking my eyes in the fashion of lit batons guiding their planes along the runway. Hopefully indicating the scraping device lying on the seat next to me. Flakes of ice still clinging to both plastic and the upholstery on which it rested.

“Yes-” somehow the man’s face lost warmth that I had not realized was even originally there. But I thought maybe it was the cold from driving in the outside air causing his skin to tighten. Not to be deterred I spoke out.

“Do you see the markings on the windows?” again trying to be helpful as I nodded my head in the directions of the glass. Silently praying that the officer’s morning coffee would kick in and he would see the obvious scrapes that had been purposefully and diligently made.

“Yes-” eyes narrowing, brow furrowing, the police officer focused his sight intensely on me. With his answer still hanging, I proceeded to shrug my shoulders, waiting for the lightning bolt of realization to strike. Knowing that he must certainly by now see the obvious effort and careful nature in which I had been driving under.

“Sir, your windshield is not properly defrosted and because of that you are going to get a ticket today. Now license and registration please.”

Jaw opened, I sat stunned, but never the less handed the man the needed documentation from my billfold. After a few minutes, with my vehicle windshield defrosted to the level he required, the policeman handed me back the expunged contents of my wallet, along with the addition of the fine yellow paper of a traffic citation.

“Have a nice day” he said.

Looking down I read aloud “$297 dollars?”. I could feel the sudden wrinkles and crows feet as they blistered across my contorted face. To some outside observer one could choose to classify my reaction as painful, but I will issue the warning here and now that I am a complicated individual and the reading of my expressions have been known to be easily misinterpreted.  I turned and looked up at the officer, and upon seeing the reaction etching itself on my person, it was then and only then that he smiled of a size so deep as to show his gums.

Watching him through my rear view mirror as he marched back to his bike, I realized that despite our miscommunication and my personal financial expense, at least I was given the chance to brighten the police officer’s day. And I only hope someone, somewhere, is able to offer Officer M. Baldwin ID #3535 of the Bend City Police Department a similar opportunity.