Why I needed a police escort on my way home from getting dinner

At times I like to get a bite to eat from a restaurant instead of whipping up something at home. I can cook just fine, but sometimes just don't feel like it. Tonight was one of those nights. But it didn't exactly go the way I planned it would. Who in the world could have guessed that the simple act of getting a bite to eat would involve the police? Well, keep in mind who we're dealing with here and none of what happened should come as a surprise.

While I was heading toward the freeway I still wasn't sure whether to stop at Carl's Jr here in town or go up to Tommy's in Ventura. Once I got on the freeway and had reached the exit where Carl's is, I decided not to run all the way to Ventura since I was there just last week. I got off in town and went right into the drive-thru lane at Carl's. Heading back home, I got onto the on-ramp, which at this spot is one of those cloverleaf types where you can't build up speed and have about 30 feet to get up to freeway speed. That means some pedal-to-the-metal action to reach freeway speed and not disrupt traffic. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the yellow Check Engine light on, and the engine let out a cough, hesitated and sputtered up to speed. Not good. I kept it slow with the flashers on till I could get somewhere to pull over. After getting off the freeway, I found a spot across from a longtime favorite Mexican restaurant, parked, turned off the engine and sat. At this point, I was just a mile from home, but wanted to check my oil before proceeding. Thinking about this, all I could smell was the distinctive odor of "expensive"—something that I really don't need right now.

I noticed a car pull up behind me and got out to see who it was. It was an SUV with a funky black-and-white paint scheme and a red and blue light on top. A man wearing a uniform with a badge reflecting the lights stepped out. He asked if I was OK and I told him what was going on. He said he'd stick around as long as I needed. (I wanted to check my oil level and add oil as needed.) Oil was a bit low; my five-quart bottle of Mobil1 had only a few ounces of oil left in it, but would have to do till I could get more or get my car in for service. With over 250,000 miles on it, it's certainly due.

After putting a few tablespoons of oil in my car, I told the officer that I was close to home and would he follow me in case of trouble. He was glad to oblige and I got home safely with my food. Before heading inside, I thanked the officer and dismissed him from Project Escort Eric Home. Once inside, I put my now-cold food into the microwave to revive it. Thank heaven for microwave ovens, and police officers who are always ready to serve.