Sooner or later, we all jump the shark

I’m sure most of you are familiar with the TV show term “jump the shark.” For those of you who are unfamiliar with it, it’s the moment a TV series slides into the absolute absurd, that point of no return that tells viewers “It’s all downhill from here, folks.” The term came from an episode of Happy Days where The Fonz jumped over a shark during a water skiing competition. I actually remember this episode, and even as a kid I remember thinking, “Oh, come on!” And: “What’s The Fonz doing on water skis to begin with! This isn’t The Brady Bunch!”

Jumping the shark usually only happens to long-running TV shows and happens when the writers have finally exhausted all their otherwise great creativity. Frankly, I can’t think of one long-running TV show that didn’t jump the shark at some point (except for maybe M*A*S*H, which jumped the shark every episode, so, like Seinfeld being a show about nothing, perhaps M*A*S*H was a show about jumping sharks). Despite the disappointment of a great show going off air too soon, I applaud producers and networks that end on a high note. They at least have the fortitude required to brave the high seas of creativity, which are shark infested waters, if there were ever any.

Like a good, long-running TV show, I think people can jump the shark, too. For men, it’s usually when they hit their midlife crisis and trade in the family 4-door for a Miata (actually, buying a Miata is, in my book, jumping the shark at any age). Finding where women jump the shark is a little more difficult, but if I really researched it, I’m pretty sure it would have something to do with a weekly sale.

As the writers of our own lives, we can’t seem to resist either writing a jump-the-shark moment (sometimes a whole school of them) or we can never seem to escape, at least sometimes, others writing them in for us.

I’m 35, so I don’t think I’ve reached my midlife crisis yet (mainly because there’s no room for it; my whole life is a crisis), but I recently jumped the shark a couple weeks ago when I was pulled over in my CAR by a cop on a bike.

While I was fertilizing my lawn (praying I wouldn’t stripe it again, if you remember my last Happy Trails), I ran out of fertilizer mid-yard and had to run to the store to pick up more. I was racing daylight but keeping a light foot on the gas pedal and wasn’t speeding. On my way home, approaching the intersection of Main St. and Rt. 47, I passed a bike patrol in the oncoming lane. I initially gave him no mind, but when I stopped at the light, I noticed he turned around and was coming up on my rear. A moment later he “pulled” up to my passenger side window, glanced in the car, at me, circled around the front, and stopped by my window. He placed a hand on my door and said, “When the light turns green, if you wouldn’t mind pulling over, I’d like to talk to you a minute.”

The officer was unthreatening enough in his approach and frankly reminded me of a happy-go-lucky park ranger, but I won’t say the thought didn’t occur to me to flee. He was on a bike, I was in a car. You do the math.

I agreed (mainly because I’m not that stupid to evade police…even if the police is on a 10-speed), and he took up position behind me then followed me through the turn, where I pulled into a parking lot on Main St.

In a moment, he was by my window again.

“Thank you for pulling over,” he said to me, and I could tell he meant it, as if he’d made this request in the past only to watch the driver smile, nod, and burn rubber.

Before he continued, I fully prepared myself to argue a speeding accusation. I had made sure I wasn’t, and furthermore, I knew he couldn’t prove if I was or wasn’t. I had hungry grass at home and needed to get back!

“When I was driving past, I noticed that your vehicle sticker looked expired, and I just wanted to let you know.”

That was two for two.

If you remember the Happy Trails I wrote back in the winter about getting pulled over (in almost the exact same spot), I was also nabbed for an expired vehicle sticker. And after all these months, my explanation hadn’t changed one bit:

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry, officer. My car was in the shop, and I just got it back. I just got the new sticker in the mail today and haven’t had a second to peel it on.”

“No problem,” he told me. “I just wanted to make sure you were aware. Have a nice day.” He concluded his visit with a very nice nod and was off, leaving me feeling like I’d been pulled over in a fairytale.

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