I Fought the Law

Having done my civic duty (or attempted to), it was now time for me to be on the other side of the bench. No, not the judge, but as the scofflaw, "Speedy McSpeedspeed."

Before the sermons and the lectures about setting examples and the appellations of "lead foot," and so on, it's important to note that although the ticket was officially for 20 miles over the speed limit, it was in fact a true speed trap. There's a road, like many in New Jersey, that stretches from one town into and through the next, and on to even another. A true journeyman, or peddler, going from town to town with no place to call home. OK, maybe not, but certainly a stretch of asphalt that can and does change names as it wends its way through various municipalities. But names are not the only things that change midstride. Apparently speed limits too, and right smack in the middle of this long (and in parts winding) road. BAM! it was 35 mph, so it's easy to be doing a respectable, all cops look the other way 10 over the limit 45mph. No problem, until  that three or four BLOCK stretch where the speed is reduced to a paltry 25. TWENTY-FIVE? I understand wanting to maintain certain speed in the traffic, but it's smack in the middle of a pretty busy thorough fare and doesn't last all that long.  Certainly a speed trap.

Well, it trapped me. The real kick in the head is that I had been on such a high. It was one of the girls' birthdays, I was on my way back from a very positive follow up appointment for the boy, and I was in that neighborhood to buy INEXPENSIVE coffee.   I am the proud owner, as you may recall, of a wonderful Keurig coffee machine. Lately, the price of coffee has gone up  approximately 25% from the past few years, so a place that sells coffee for the original low price is worth a slight detour.

Unless you end up with a speeding ticket and fine of over two hundred dollars (pleaded down). I'm sure MBB will be happy to do the math and let me know exactly how much each box of coffee actually cost me that day. I think I'd rather not know.

I wish it would have been that day. Just pay the cop, and move on. But nooooo. I have to spend two plus hours going through a "process' that is designed to extort money from fearful, (mostly) law abiding citizens who are intimidated by the unfamiliar circumstances they find themselves in. Obviously, I am not referring to those there on assault charges, or multiple housing violations charges, or second or third timers driving with out a licences types. No I am referring to the good citizens of this fine country who are caught in speed traps, and shuffled from place to place  to agree to a "plea deal." This usually just means a way for the town to keep more of the money for themselves, and not share much of it with the state.

The part that rankles me the most is when the judge asks if you took the deal without coercion. Well, not really, everyone is in rush, and not really looking to explain anything to anyone. They were nice in the plea room, but definitely have the upper hand. There was no way I was getting an attorney for this, my apologies to all those attorneys who specialize in this type of law. I'm sure one of them could have helped me, but I did not wish to compund my guilt by hiring an attorney, though I may have saved an hour and a few bucks. It's doubtful an attorney would have saved from the comedy of errors that was my trip to the courthouse. First, I missed the ramp to get off one highway on to the next. Then I missed the first u-turn that would have allowed me to get back on track quickly. I found the second u-turn and made my way back to the spot of misdirection. At this point it was late, but I had time. Until I could.not.find.the courthouse. I went up and down that street, bumbling through no left turns, and no u-turn signs on driveways. I even tried to follow a cop to get directions, until FINALLY  I saw an old Italian guy standing on the sidewalk, and he told me how to go. Yay. I'd get there with two minutes to spare! Except I had to park in the auxilliary lot, and I was halfway to the building when I realized I had left my phone in the car. Not that I am so attached to the phone, but I left all the kids home, and I wanted them to reach me if they could. I finally made my way into the building went up to the window, and got my number. 42. I asked if they had started at number 1, and the woman responded yes, but then kindly added, "don't worry, it goes pretty fast."

I guess that depends on whether or not you really want to get home. It wasn't unpleasant, though I did learn that throwing a drink on someone, according to the girl I was sitting next to, is considered assault.

So I've tried to get on a jury, I've stood before a judge, now I'd like to be a prosecutor.

Maybe I should go to Law School.