Two months ago I got a ticket for leaving the car on the street during a parking ban. I honestly didn’t know that it was supposed to snow. The next morning I climbed into the car to find a ticket for $100 sitting under the driver’s side wiper blade. I kept putting off paying it because it’s not like I have $100 lying around to pay for my stupid mistake. Two weeks ago I received a summons in the mail to appear today at my hearing. I figured I’d go down to the police department, plead my ignorance, and maybe just maybe they’d let me off.
I’d never been to the new police department that’s been open for the last several years. My mom used to be the police chief’s secretary so I knew my way around the old city hall. The new center is a sprawling complex that includes the police department, city jail, sheriff’s department, county jail, and most of the additional departments of the city. I wasn’t sure where to park so I just found a spot and pulled in, making sure I was parked within the yellow lines and not in an unauthorized zone. That’s all I needed, another ticket while I was inside trying to get out of a ticket. As I was heading towards the nearest door, I noticed another woman who had just gotten out of her car next to mine. She was wearing a t-shirt that read “If my music is too loud, then you’re too ugly.” I’m still not sure what that means. “You here for the traffic hearing?” she asked. I admitted that I was and asked if she knew where I was supposed to go. She instantly transformed into a tour guide, pointing out what every building was. All she was missing was a microphone in hand and a red wind breaker with her name stitched onto it. I’m guessing she’d been down there (i.e. locked up) a few times.
As the two of us strolled inside hand in hand, I was told to sign in, take a number, and wait for my number to be called. Looking around the room, you could see people practicing what they were going to say to try to get out of their tickets. It was like sitting around with a bunch of people all getting ready to audition for a bit part in “My Name Is Earl.” A guy in his mid-20’s was sitting across from me loudly relating the events of last night. They shut the bar down at 4 a.m. and headed for a late night meal at Hardee’s. If the thought of drinking 17 Coors Lights isn’t enough to make you puke, thinking about adding a Jalapeno Thickburger on top of it should do the trick. In fact, I think the guy was still drunk.
An older gentleman sitting to my right told me that he was there because his truck was in the tow-away zone at Wal-Mart. I assumed that he was just sitting there waiting to pick up his wife at the door or something logical like that. Instead he later said that he parked there to run inside and get groceries for the week. He was so surprised when he came out a while later to find a $250 ticket on his windshield. Uh…duh.
As each person came out, those of us waiting looked over to see what the result was. Over and over again each person replied that they still had to pay their fine. It wasn’t looking good. After waiting for about 45 minutes they called my number. I went into the tiny room and sat down at the table as the door closed behind me. Two women sat on the opposite side and opened up my case file. (At least that’s what I’m going to call it because it makes me sound tough and dangerous. Like one of the felons on Law and Order: SVU.) They asked me my name and I told them, also explaining that the spelling of my last name would need to be corrected too. Once a Richardson, always a Richardson. As I told them this the ladies looked at one another before one of them asked “Are you Linda’s son?” I smiled and said that I was. “We love your mom,” the other one said. This was looking good. “Here’s what I’m going to do,” one began. “We’re going to void this out but you can’t tell anyone we did this.” I eagerly agreed, knowing that I’d write about it in my blog. This is why I could never work at some place like the CIA or the State Department. I’d be spilling all of the secrets. Anyway, I thanked both of the women profusely as I headed out. All eyes were instantly on me as I walked out of the room. I threw up my hands, looking downtrodden, and said that they gave me 60 days to pay off my fine. Sorry, I was sworn to secrecy.
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