Tickets

I got a ticket two months ago. I was pretty annoyed with myself, too, because it was a pretty stupid ticket, but I was even more annoyed with the officer for not letting me slide. Who gives a ticket for an expired registration seven days after it expired? I mean, we're not talking about seven weeks or even seven months. Seven freaking days. For real though, I can't fault the man for doing his job. 

I've been pulled over exactly three times in my life, and hopefully this post won't jinx it. And yeah, I speed. I just don't speed excessively or drive recklessly. And I don't drive flashy cars. This is how you beat the system. Most general district court judges don't want to see anyone in court for going three or four or even five miles over the speed limit, unless it's a residential area or their personal neighborhood, because the traffic dockets are long enough as it is. So I stick with about five miles over the speed limit and I'm good. I recently had someone tell me that I drive like old people fuck: slow. But whatever, that's why he's about one ticket away from being declared a habitual offender and I'm not.

The first time I ever got pulled over was back in 1991. I had just gotten my license after I graduated from high school, because my mom was a total nut job and wouldn't even let me get my learner's permit while I was living in her house. I had not demonstrated enough responsible behavior for that. She didn't really understand the concept of letting me demonstrate some responsible behavior first and then let's see what happens. If you act like I'm just a big fuck-up, then I'm going to live down to your expectations. Anyway, I was headed home one night, driving way too fast because I was living with my father at that point and he did not play around with the whole curfew thing. However, my dashboard lights didn't work, and I didn't have the money to get it fixed. So I got pulled over for 60 in a 35. Now, I knew full well I was speeding. If you ride around long enough without dash lights, you get a feel for how fast you're going. But I played the dumb card and told the cop the lights had just gone out that night and I was on my way home and I just didn't realize how fast I was going, and oh, poor me, blah blah blah. What I had really been doing was having some outdoor triple-x fun with the guy I was dating at the time, and I had been having so much fun I was running late. The cop let me go, but he kept asking me if I was all right and looking at me funny, which I didn't understand but who am I to question? I realized why when I got home and looked in the mirror. I had mulch in my hair, and a lot of it, too. That was actually one of my best summers, spent lolling about in the thick humidity of Central Virginia, drinking cheap beer, breaking into neighborhood pools for late night skinny dipping, and trying not to get washed down the James River whilst engaging in beer drinking, skinny dipping and just straight down-n-dirty fun.

The first actual ticket came in 1994 in Cumberland County, where route 45 ends at route 60. That stop sign is actually supposed to be a yield sign, because no one actually stops there unless you're turning left. If you're turning right, you can see down the road a ways, and if nothing is coming, then slide on through. No need to go any lower than second gear. So I slide up to the stop sign, look down the road, nothing's coming, ease up off the brake, hit the gas and BOOM! I rear-ended some dumbass who actually stopped at the stop sign. I was like, what the fuck just happened? Did he actually stop here? To turn right? But nothing's coming. Yes, I got a ticket out of that one. Since I didn't know how the whole thing worked, I went to court and plead guilty. I mean, I was guilty, so I might as well own up to it. But the ticket writer explained his bit in court and he explained it all wrong and made me sound much less guilty. I was standing there looking at him, thinking, are we talking about the same accident? But because I had such a fabulous driving record and had plead guilty, the judge dismissed it. Yay for me!

Fast forward to 2010. I'm driving up 95, on the way to work. I thought the speed limit was 65, so of course I'm going about 70. I see a cop roll up behind me really fast and then slow down. Uh oh, I think he's pacing me. Shit. I'm going to get a ticket. We rode a little ways like that, and I never even slowed down. I didn't even take my foot off the gas pedal at all because then the game is up. He would have known that I knew he was behind me, although it would have been hard not to miss him in either of my mirrors, tailgating my rear quarter panel. To me, hitting the brakes when you see the po-lice is kind of like playing chicken. As soon as you hit the brakes, you just lost the game. He then quick swerves behind me and cuts on the lights. Goddammit. He strolls up, I hand over my shit and he tells me he pulled me over because my tags are expired. Huh? They are? Oh yeah, I vaguely recall getting something in the mail from DMV a few months ago about that. Geez, I'm sorry, DMV, I just went through a major life change right about the time you wanted me to renew my tags, so... screw you. I was thinking I might be able to get myself out of this, because my hair looked super cute that day. Except I can't talk shit to men who aren't cute, because I do have some standards. And homeslice was not cute, not even in that beer-goggles kind of way. He walked back to his car and I just sat there. I sat there waiting for a while, and I couldn't figure that out either, because I certainly don't look like the kind of person who has warrants out on her. I pictured myself getting flung up against the car and handcuffed from behind in my four inch heels and silk blouse while a humid breeze blew in from the South and flecks of gravel were flung up from the 18 wheelers driving by. Wait, that was some shit I just watched on pornhub. He comes back with a ticket.

But that's okay, because I'm getting out of this one, too. Like I said, I know how the system works. I had my ass in DMV bright and early the next day with an 800 page book to read, because that's about how long I was going to be in there waiting. I thought I'd go ahead and change my address and update my voter registration, too. I got a new license and they'll mail it to me. What? Why can't you just hand it to me while I'm right here? Oh, that's right, you're making up for the cost of postage with the ten extra dollars you just charged me to walk in and transact this shit in person. I was feeling pretty good about my new picture on my license, because I looked super cute that day, too. A week later said license arrives in the mail. Worst fucking picture EVER. Oh my god, there is no way they could have taken a worse picture.

So now I'm just waiting on my court date. I'll be able to show that I was only seven days out of compliance, and I got the shit renewed the very next day, your Honor. And it will most likely be dismissed. I don't know if I've learned anything out of all of this, other than I'll renew my stuff online next time, because paying ten extra dollars or however much to transact something in person is simply ridiculous. I remember when DMV didn't have chairs, and you just walked in and stood in line like you were in a soup kitchen waiting on a handout. I would suggest that you get rid of the chairs if you don't want people hanging around making mean faces and passive-aggressive comments about how horrible DMV is. And fix your cameras, too, while you're at it.