And justice for all

A real patriot is the fellow who gets a parking ticket and rejoices that the system works. –Bill Vaughan

A real patriot knows she is living in a Kafka novel, but still defends America to the French. –Jane Johnson

On March 9, 2007 at 7:21 am (according to my car’s clock and NPR), I got a speeding ticket. I was lasered going 33 in a 35 mph zone. Wait, that doesn’t make sense. On my ticket, the officer alleged that I was going 33 mph in a 15 mph school zone. But school starts at 7:15, and I am 99.99% sure that the blinking yellow light was off. I pointed this out to the officer (leaving out the .01% chance that I could be mistaken), and he said that they could write tickets for up to 15 minutes after school starts.

That ticket was worth $306.21 and points on my recently-pristine record. (It’s pretty easy to keep your record clear when you don’t drive at all for five years (in NYC and Cairo).

Also on March 9, 2007, sometime between 8:30 and 11:30 am, our house was broken into, probably by hooligans looking for easily pawned items (not much luck at our house. They got Dick’s wedding ring, which he hadn’t worn in 9 years and our digital camera, which was pretty much obsolete anyway).

I pled not guilty to the ticket and suffered an agony of indecision, exacerbated by an extremely intimidating notice of my court date that threatened assessment of court fees on top of my fine. Basically, I should drop my innocent stance or risk losing everything.

The hearing was scheduled for April 24th at 7:00 pm.

Dick was supportive; I didn’t tell him about the .01% chance that I could be mistaken until 20 minutes before my hearing. But Dick had his own run-in with the law after mine, and he responded differently. In one of his periodic attempts to clean up our neighborhood, Dick made a series of calls to the police tip-line, the littering department and the Section 8 people to complain about our unsightly block. Dick’s calls and emails were rewarded; nuisance and misdemeanor violations increased.

Dick got a parking ticket. For almost two years he has been parking on the grass between our narrow street and our sidewalk. He got a “tree-line” violation (there are some beautiful old trees in our neighborhood. His car was not parked near any of them). Dick now says that he fumed at the time for a day and a half. I wouldn’t call that fuming. I would call it mild irritation. But he paid the ticket promptly, and we were rewarded, again, this time by massive clean-ups of the vacant lots near us. And everyone is now parking in the street instead of on the easements. (Which isn’t so great for driving).

The day of my hearing dawned this morning. I felt sick, then giddy, then sick. I stopped on the way home from picking Sally up from school to photograph my “evidence,” as I had been instructed to bring all my witnesses and evidence to the hearing. Sally was curious and I explained the whole thing (she’s too young to understand about that .01% chance, right?). She wanted to go to court, too, and to see the judge.

I had planned to take Spot anyway; she would be in the Baby Bjorn on my chest, eyeing the judge as I pled my case (and she might need to be nursed right then, too; you never know). Then I realized that today is Tuesday (Chick-fil-A free-kids-meal-day), and that the courthouse is just a couple blocks away. It’s always best to combine good food and good fun.

At 6:45 the whole family filed into the courtroom, past the armed guards and x-ray machines and through the metal detectors. Sally had dressed up in last year’s Easter dress, and Susan was proud of her loud shoes (“I making music, Mommy”). The judge, clerk and bailiff welcomed us; the clerk said she thought the officer wouldn’t show and that would be that. I changed Spot’s diaper (to Dick’s chagrin) and nursed her (to his further chagrin). At four minutes to 7, my officer appeared; he said that if the lasering officer didn’t arrive in time, he’d motion to dismiss and that really would be that.

Thus passed the longest four minutes of my life. Well, except for that time when Dick said he wanted to be “just friends” about 9 years ago. Luckily things turned out well that time, too.

The laser-er didn’t show, and we walked out. I was almost disappointed. Didn’t they want to hear my argument? See my “evidence”? But even I know when it’s a bad time to argue (really, I do), so we scat. Though I did stop outside to get a paper confirming the dismissed status. My officer was out there too, getting his mileage approved. He couldn’t resist a little lecture, which I meekly endured (despite my innocence).

Here’s my evidence (since it didn’t get a day in court):

I was really happy with how these pictures turned out, since I took them from inside my minivan. Notice the composition of the top picture: how prominent the 35 mph sign is. And, on the bottom picture, you’ll see that the sign reads “15 mph when flashing” not “15 mph when flashing and for 15 minutes thereafter.” I rest my case.

p.s. This school zone is outside a high school, and there is that lovely bridge over this massively dangerous street. If public high school students cannot be trusted to cross a street by themselves, then I think we’ve got bigger problems than the occasional, .01% chance that I am speeding.