Okay, so on my travels home from my brother's back in August, I was clocked going thousand miles over the speed limit through this tiny town south of Pittsburgh. Come on! I swear I was only driving a couple (hundred) miles above the limit. Seriously. I was only keeping up with traffic, Yo. Otherwise I would have caused an accident.
That's my story. I'm sticking with it.
(Boy, that's a lot of "Is" in that paragraph)
Anywho, I decided to fight it. This morning was D-Day.
Baby's first Traffic Court.
So in an attempt to appear all penitent and shit in front of what I assumed to be a burly rube of a judge-wanna-be, I donned a nun's habit, set the GPS to East Effing Jabib and set sail into the murky waters of Deliveranceville. I gave myself ample time to make the 9am appointment so I could crawl at a snail's pace, because the last thing I needed was to get a speeding ticket on the way to FIGHT a speeding ticket, right?
How lame would that be.
Fifty minutes later, Grandma Moses pulled into a semi-strip mall nestled amongst a rundown neighborhood on a dead end street. Ooookay. Weird. I half expected to see roaming dingos emerge from beneath cars up on blocks, thirsting for my jugular.
A. I hadn't had coffee yet.
B. Clearly, I watch too many vampire-related programs.
I'm greeted by Barney Fife who, after genuflecting, guides me to a little room in the back. After hearing his confession (he confused me with a priest) he worked a plea to present to the honorable Judge Hatchet.
So the Judge bellows out to Barney to send in the first loser of the day. We walk into a room filled with thick, heavy chairs behind a large wooden library table (circa 1975) intended to make one feel insignificant before of the great and powerful Oz. In front of us was a raised judge's bench where the Man of the Morning was desperately trying to look busy shuffling papers and scribbling notes. You know, just like on the TV.
Judge Happypants didn't even look up from his Playboy, I mean, busy work when Barney read his recommendation of no points and a reduced fine.
Grumble Grumble Sigh Belch pfffft "Fine. Whatever. Get the hell out of my courtroom, Sister. I need to hit the head."
And that was that. Ten minutes, no points and money back! HOLLA!
I got back in my car, defiantly tossed my torn up ticket and wimple out the window and screamed "So long, Suckas!" laying tire in my wake as I pealed away.
Wait. What's that in my rearview mirror, a cherry top?
Aw, Sunova BEEEEEEEEEEEP!!