There's no better feeling than getting a great deal on clothing. So when I found a sweater that was on sale, and I had a coupon for an additional discount, I left the Carousel Mall feeling as though I had just won the lottery.

I had to call someone to tell them the good news.

So as I was driving home, I called my wife, who always enjoys a good discount-on-top-of-a-discount shopping story.

That call was my first mistake.

I forgot I was in New York.

As I slowed down to get my toll booth ticket and head onto the westbound Thruway, I put my phone down and grabbed the ticket. I then picked it up and just as I was about to speak, I saw him. But not before he saw me.

A state trooper. Two of them in fact. Right there, lined up alongside the railing not more than 20 yards beyond the toll booths.

The trooper stepped out into my path and waved me over to the side of the road. I stopped the car, and dropped the phone onto the passenger seat.

The trooper peeked his head into the passenger window. At that point, we immediately moved beyond any faint hopes I had of being able to challenge this arrest in court, as he could see my cellphone was on and open, lying on the passenger seat, with my wife's voice calling out:

“Hey ... hey ... are you still there? Hellllooooooo.”

The trooper looked down at the smoking gun, er, cellphone and asked:

“You didn't see me standing right there?”

I know that to be a trick question they learn to ask in State Trooper School. If I say “No,” it suggests that I would talk on the cellphone as long as I didn't get caught. If I say “Yes,” it suggests that I was blatantly flaunting my criminal activity, and was daring the trooper to arrest me.

So I answer neither:

“I was coming out of the mall and continued my conversation while driving, when I should have remained parked,” I admitted apologetically. This is the answer you learn in Talking To A State Trooper School. Beat them to the morale of the story. Let them know you're aware that you are wrong, and what the correct solution would have been, before they preach. And look remorseful.

“Don't you have a hands-free headset?” he asked.

“Yes, but I don't know where my wife put it,' I said, which I learned in Talking To A State Trooper Without Your Wife In the Car School.

But even my well-schooled answers couldn't save me from a ticket for talking on my cellphone while driving.

The fine was $115, $60 for the ticket, and $55 for state surcharge, another revenue stream for our state government, $55 that I only hoped may one day return as part of a pork project for Cayuga County.

The fine was stiff enough to serve me with a stern reminder that drivers who talk on cellphones can indeed be dangerously oblivious. Otherwise, I would have spotted the trooper first and hid the phone (no, not really).

After being handed the ticket, I put the phone in the glove compartment and drove the rest of the way home in quiet, guilty shame.

And when I arrived at my house, I showed my wife my new sweater, which had just become the most expensive piece of clothing I owned.

Editor Mikel LeFort can be reached at 253-5311 ext. 230 or e-mail mikel.lefort@lee.net