We used to tell Zane the colors of the traffic lights before he started talking; it was a way to pass the time and help him learn his colors. We were stupid back then. Somewhere along the way, my son started watching our driving very carefully. I am not sure when it happened, but Zane began channeling the evil driving instructor from my high school days. He even has that old school driving instructor tone of voice, that "I am so bored with you morons" tone. It drives me up the wall, although I do my best not to show it. At least he's looking around at the world, right?
"Green means go."
"Yes, son."
"Red means stop."
"Yes, son."
Yellow means slow down."
"Yes, son."
"Green arrow!"
"Yes, son."
"Car's coming!"
"Yes, son."
"Stop Sign! Mama, why are you hitting your head on the steering wheel?"
Fortunately, my son cannot see the speedometer. He'd be telling me to slow down, too. Come to think of it, that would have been a good idea. It might have kept me from getting my second speeding ticket in the past year. Before last year I hadn't had a speeding ticket for almost twenty years, but suddenly I have a lead foot, and was going 8 miles over the speed limit.
I wasn't trying to speed, but I also wasn't paying attention to my speed, either. My son didn't say a word while I was talking to the police officer and giving him my license, etc. Once he went to his car to write out the ticket, I had to explain why we had been pulled over. It's a little embarrassing to have a cop behind you, lights
flashing, when you have your kid in the car.
It's even worse when your husband is sitting in the passenger seat. He's not ever going to let me live it down!
Showing posts with label speeding ticket. Show all posts
Showing posts with label speeding ticket. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
My Day In Court
It is a well known fact that the entire city of Selma is a speed trap; I even read about it in a book before I even moved back to this state. If anyone nearby ever says that they got a traffic ticket, we all say "Selma?" The answer is almost always in the affirmative. After twenty plus years of casually speeding through Selma, Texas, I got a ticket.
I got a ticket for speeding on the access road because I did not see a sign indicating the correct speed. I could have argued with the nice police officer about that(the nearest sign was over a mile back), but I did not. I have a strict "NO ARGUING" policy when there are guns involved. I was speeding, whether I saw a sign or not, and I try to take responsibility for my actions. In my opinion, listening to my husband lecture me all the way home was punishment enough, but I doubt the police officer would agree.
I was supposed to send a letter in pleading no contest and requesting to take Defensive Driving. Except the ticket stated that you were supposed to send in a check, too. If I were paying the entire fine, the amount would have been around 200 dollars, but if I were going to take Defensive Driving, the amount would have been around 110 dollars. I didn't know if I should send in the full amount, since I was requesting defensive driving, or the reduced amount, as if I had already been approved. The directions on the ticket were vague enough to have me worried. I wasn't sure whether my choice would result in a warrant for my arrest. My mother would have packed up and moved to unknown parts if I were to embarrass her by getting arrested.
I procrastinated, and that procrastination found me at the Municipal Court in Selma. The Municipal Court is a tiny building, compared to what I am used to. The courtroom was jam packed with offenders. I heard someone saying something about questions, and since I had questions, I followed that group of people. It turned out to be the wrong line, but finally the nice policemen with guns got me back into the courtroom, along with three or four hundred other people who were in the same boat as me. It was standing room only.
The judge talked a bit about the different pleas one could take. I didn't really listen much, because my feet hurt. If you are a woman in high heels, and you have to stand on those high heels for longer than fifteen minutes, your feet start to hurt. Once the feet start hurting, then it is all about the pain. I spent a good part of the judge's lecture glaring at the entire first row of men. At least one of those bastards could have offered me his seat! Equality takes a backseat when your feet hurt.
Someone's cell phone kept going off. The bailiff kept saying loudly that people should turn off their phones. He sort of sounded like Samuel L. Jackson, and I kept waiting for him to start throwing down profanity to emphasize his point. It was obvious that that cell phone bothered the bailiff tremendously. What bothered him more was that he could not locate the phone. He walked around several times, trying to pinpoint location, and becoming frantic. And then they found the phone. The evil phone, so vile. The phone that belonged to an attorney. The attorney who had just advised the group to turn off your cell phones.
The court finally got down to business. They started calling names; when they said your name, you yelled out your plea. Whatever your answer was, it went into a specific pile. I yelled "no contest", but then I had to wait until someone came to escort me to the ticket window(sooo...the window is 15ft away from the court, and you provide me an armed escort?) I was tired, by that point. I hadn't eaten lunch. I was getting peckish. And I end up in another line...to pay for my ticket and to get my letter for defensive driving. As soon as they had their clutches on the check, I got out of that place, and back to work.
You've won this round, Selma!
I got a ticket for speeding on the access road because I did not see a sign indicating the correct speed. I could have argued with the nice police officer about that(the nearest sign was over a mile back), but I did not. I have a strict "NO ARGUING" policy when there are guns involved. I was speeding, whether I saw a sign or not, and I try to take responsibility for my actions. In my opinion, listening to my husband lecture me all the way home was punishment enough, but I doubt the police officer would agree.
I was supposed to send a letter in pleading no contest and requesting to take Defensive Driving. Except the ticket stated that you were supposed to send in a check, too. If I were paying the entire fine, the amount would have been around 200 dollars, but if I were going to take Defensive Driving, the amount would have been around 110 dollars. I didn't know if I should send in the full amount, since I was requesting defensive driving, or the reduced amount, as if I had already been approved. The directions on the ticket were vague enough to have me worried. I wasn't sure whether my choice would result in a warrant for my arrest. My mother would have packed up and moved to unknown parts if I were to embarrass her by getting arrested.
I procrastinated, and that procrastination found me at the Municipal Court in Selma. The Municipal Court is a tiny building, compared to what I am used to. The courtroom was jam packed with offenders. I heard someone saying something about questions, and since I had questions, I followed that group of people. It turned out to be the wrong line, but finally the nice policemen with guns got me back into the courtroom, along with three or four hundred other people who were in the same boat as me. It was standing room only.
The judge talked a bit about the different pleas one could take. I didn't really listen much, because my feet hurt. If you are a woman in high heels, and you have to stand on those high heels for longer than fifteen minutes, your feet start to hurt. Once the feet start hurting, then it is all about the pain. I spent a good part of the judge's lecture glaring at the entire first row of men. At least one of those bastards could have offered me his seat! Equality takes a backseat when your feet hurt.
Someone's cell phone kept going off. The bailiff kept saying loudly that people should turn off their phones. He sort of sounded like Samuel L. Jackson, and I kept waiting for him to start throwing down profanity to emphasize his point. It was obvious that that cell phone bothered the bailiff tremendously. What bothered him more was that he could not locate the phone. He walked around several times, trying to pinpoint location, and becoming frantic. And then they found the phone. The evil phone, so vile. The phone that belonged to an attorney. The attorney who had just advised the group to turn off your cell phones.
The court finally got down to business. They started calling names; when they said your name, you yelled out your plea. Whatever your answer was, it went into a specific pile. I yelled "no contest", but then I had to wait until someone came to escort me to the ticket window(sooo...the window is 15ft away from the court, and you provide me an armed escort?) I was tired, by that point. I hadn't eaten lunch. I was getting peckish. And I end up in another line...to pay for my ticket and to get my letter for defensive driving. As soon as they had their clutches on the check, I got out of that place, and back to work.
You've won this round, Selma!
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