Note: This is the conclusion of the Saga of the Missing Front License Plate. You can read the first part here, but to be honest it's not like this is going to make any more sense if you do.At the end of the first part of this story, I had decided to go to court to clear up the charge of Aggravated Procrastination. To do this, I needed to go to the court office first thing in the morning and get my name on the list. So I showed up that Wednesday at 8:30 am, went home for 4 hours (during which time I admirably remained almost completely sober), then turned around and drove back to the courthouse. As I entered, I was promptly examined by a swarthy security guard with a thick accent who was wearing a turban and had a beard down to his waist. I decided, in a remarkable display of high-mindedness, not to find this the least bit ironic.
While I waited in line I noticed a sign that had been pasted to the wall. It read:
No ShoesI considered asking how many tank tops I was expected to bring into court; whether I was supposed to wear them or carry them in a bag; if the judge had a color preference; etc., but decided against it. Again, do not aggravate people who know a lot of people who carry guns, no matter how confused their signs are.
No Shirt
No Tanktops
No Court
The actual court proceedings were rather uninteresting. It was an awful lot like Night Court, actually, except that it wasn't night, and the judge didn't do any magic tricks. Surprisingly, though, Mel Torme did show up for a cameo.
The judge eventually called my name, and I pretended I didn't know English. "Nolo contendre," I said, and the judge smiled and told me that he would knock the fine down to $110 bucks. I could hardly believe my ruse had worked. Silly judge, I thought. I've got this guy wrapped around my habeas corpus.
It turns out that $110 actually means $130 in government dollars. Seriously. California passed a law after 9/11 legislating that any fine is actually $20 more than it is. They didn't actually increase the fines; they just said, "Whatever your fine is, it's still that same amount. Oh, and give us another $20 for, um, security." Because when you steal $20 from millions of Californians, you need a lot of security.
So then I got to wait in line again, this time to hand them my check for One Hundred Ten Dollars and 2000/100ths. While I waited at the Traffic Offenses window, various low-lifes and victims of low-lifes came and went at the Miscellaneous Grievances window (It may not actually have been called that). One guy seemed to be tagging along with a friend of his, who was involved in some kind of domestic dispute. Either he had requested a restraining order against someone, or someone had requested a restraining order against him, or he and someone had filed a mutual restraining order against each other, or something along those lines. Anyway, when the guy was done, his friend walked up to the window and said, "Can I get one of those?"
This surprised me, as I had never thought of a restraining order as an impulse purchase. Apparently the clerk had made it sound so appealing that this guy had been sold on the concept. Well, almost sold. "Do I have to fill out all those papers?" he said. Rule of thumb: If ten minutes of paperwork is too much of a hurdle for you to get a restraining order, you may want to reconsider whether a restraining order is really the right choice for you. Maybe you'd be interested in our Change Your Phone Number and Stop Wasting Tax Dollars on Your Domestic Squabbles program?
Anyway, I paid my fines, so I'm back in the good graces of the state of California. I'm sure they're happy, because now that I have both license plates on my car, they can literally get me coming and going. Actually, now that I think about it, if I had had both license plates when the cop pulled me over, I probably would have gotten a huge speeding ticket, since he wouldn't have had the option of giving me the license plate ticket instead. I should probably take that front one off again, just in case. Maybe I'll get to it tomorrow.
All in all, it wasn't such a bad experience, although it did take up a few hours of my day. I drove like a madman all the way home. Places to go, things to do.
At humor-blogs.com, you may not know how fast you're going, but at least you'll know where you are.
Labels: Anecdotes, Driving, Exemplary Police Work
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