I went to court today and none of you seems to care. I’m given one blog post from jail and this is it, I hope you’re happy. Court, I have to say, is not the worst place to be on Wednesday morning. First, everyone has a story and I like those. I came late and so was up almost last. I heard all of them except the guy in the brown shirt who went after me. I had the sense, though, that his would be complicated.
There was a sweet white-haired woman named Sharon who had sped and I liked her a lot. She wore a sharp matching yellow ensemble — a shirt and short pants — and she had some spunk. She said this, for instance, “I don’t see how I could have been going 44 when I was turning off of a one-way street. I just don’t see how that is even possible.” It seemed hard for the rest of us to believe, too; I don’t think Sharon drives 44 on the freeway.
Then there was a sweet girl who looked no older than 12 but was actually 17 and she sped, too. She sped and she had her sister in the front seat and her sister was not belted in. Her name might have been Lisa, let’s say it was. Lisa was small and very nervous and she started crying and I almost cried with her. Our judge asked her to write an essay, it’s due in a week, and then she’ll just have a warning. He didn’t say what about but probably something on belts and speed.
Lisa reminded me of B., though B. and I didn’t cry. B. and I went to court together in our small town, once; we were 19, I think. Well B. was younger. The rite of passage in our small town was to get a ticket called “MIP” — minor in posession. They were $119 at the time, and then a lot of people got grounded. B.’s and mine was funny because we’d driven to the oddest remote street for our possession. We’d got our beer, we’d found the most out of the way street to drink it on — do you think the policeman had a girl on that street B.? Or were we not as clever as we thought, maybe everyone used that street. Anyway, B. and I were drinking our beer and throwing our cans out the window (I’m sure that part was strictly B.!) and then our plan was to go to the street dance downtown. I remember it was all fairly routine. The police car pulled up, he wrote that we littered and also minorly drank and then, oddly, we still went to the dance. Did we drive there, B.? I think we did.
I don’t tell stories well, though, because the one I wanted to tell was about court. B. and I went together, it was our first time, and it was actually sort of fun. When it was our turn to get up, Judge Valentine asked “did you pick up the cans?” (i.e., our litter) and we said, “No, the guy wouldn’t let us.” It was true, for some reason he wouldn’t. Judge V. chuckled at that, shook his head and then said, sotto voce, “those guys will do anything for a nickel.” He threw the littering part out.
I still got in trouble. It was still a fun summer. And today I pled guilty. One charge was dismissed, though, and one was reduced. And if you want to know what my horrible crimes were, you’ll have to bring gum to my house, I want spearmint.