Death of a Good Citizen

As you already know, I am not one to be speechless but I think it may have finally happened. You see yours truly had to go to traffic court. Due to my own laziness and a lack of accurate info from the obviously confused Panchorelli wannabe, I ended up having to spend an hour or so in Hells sixth level. Stick with me here because this folk tale is longer than my usual diatribes. Let’s start with some background, shall we?

Imagine rush hour traffic moving along at a hasty 25 mph. You are in the middle lane in your, new to you, car with tinted side windows (A big no-no in California where you can legally smoke weed for your glaucoma while being married to your dog). You notice a motorcycle highway patrol on the side of the freeway writing up another deposit for the State’s general fund and decide to roll down your windows knowing that your felonious tint could get you a ticket. You pass by and all is well until the fireworks go off behind you and you start imagining the curb seat scenario that is to come. Long story short, I get nailed with a fix it ticket that I can allegedly get signed off on by any officer of the law.

Weeks later I attempt to get it signed off on by 3 separate law entities before getting someone to put their chicken scratch on the bottom of the ticket. I mail it in on time and forget all about the inconvenience. I come back from a vacation at the Happiest Place on Earth (No not the Bunny Ranch you sickos) to find a warrant for my arrest in the mail. Which seems a like a strange way to inform someone they have broken the law. I was half expecting the SWAT team to batter down my door any minute with the tone and wording of the letter. Being a law abiding fellow, I go to the Sheriffs department the next day to turn myself in. In actuality, I just signed a paper saying I would go to court in 2 months. 2 MONTHS!!

Being I am an upstanding citizen, I am a little nervous going to traffic court. So when the day finally comes I leave work early to go to what is the equivalent of the DMV mixed with the Principals office with a dash of used car dealer thrown in. First off I have to pay to park. This is in the fucking suburbs for God’s sake, why am I paying to park, to waist my time, to be around God’s forsaken, and I am sure to pay a fine. As I am walking through a sea of dilapidated human movers, I notice that everyone I see has decided to dress up in their Sunday lawn mowing best. Since I am early and quickly find my department, I decide to head in early and get a preview of the proceedings. Think of it as a Flea Market full of excuses.

A few initial observations. Most people are here for some sort of ridiculous fix it ticket like myself. Some examples being the aforementioned tinted side windows, no front license plate, broken lights and windows, and loud stereos or exhaust; Basically a ricer’s dream. However, 90% of these morons got these tickets while driving on a suspended license or without insurance (Real bright). Second, people are freaking poor. Almost everyone would rather do 6 days community service than pay a $600 fine. Personally my time is worth 2-3 times that much so I would just whip out the Amex Centurion card and get the fuck out of there. There were also quite a few people who had no problem just doing straight time. To you felony virgins, that means going to jail. Yes, jail. How’s that for a shitty day? You go to traffic court and leave in cuffs and a jump suit.

Everyone has heard the term that excuses are like assholes. Let me tell you that there are a lot of assholes with excuses too. That’s what I love about the judicial system; these people skate through life because everyone else has too much to do to actually make them face the music they deserve (I prefer Celine Dione as a great punishment). Here, the judge doesn’t care that you had to drive because your kid and your babies momma were sick and you had to go get some heroin, errrr, I mean medicine. Plus they dole out fines like a fat chick at Starbucks. “I’ll take a Venti driving on a suspended, with extra no insurance, light on the speeding, with two pumps of DUI. Thanks.”

The degradation of society is also on display. However, here you have to answer to the judge or the bailiff. Two men, dressed in wife beaters that they must have bought for the occasion since they still had the fold creases in them, were chewing gum. They had the gall to get riled up when the bailiff asked them to spit it out or the judge would get upset when she gets back. Another douche nozzle’s phone rang during the proceedings, clearly illiterate since there were at least sixteen “No Cell Phones” signs and twelve “No Talking signs”. Luckily the bailiff simply walked them out of the room and gave them a Failure To Appear on their record.

After an hour and a half of waiting, it was my turn. I simply walked up to the podium and explained that I had sent in my proof of correction but the postmark was a day late. Interestingly, all of it was mailed back to me plus copies of the envelope. I am sure it took 20 minutes to put the package together and mail it to me. Thus costing more in labor than the fine I paid. The judge simply said to go to the Fines Room and pay the original fine. Sweet, done and done.

Maybe not. Have you ever made a wrong turn leaving a ball game and end up in a part of town where the locks on your door all of a sudden seem as safe as a Ming vase in the hands of an epileptic? That’s how this room was. One long winding line that could have easily been a waiting area for a Police lineup and I was the token white guy. I just closed my eyes like a new prisoner getting his first shower rape and waited for it to end.