About two months ago I went out for a drink with my good friend and colleague, A.R. We went to a South Hills suburban hot spot---a place so crowded on a Saturday night that we had to wait 20 minutes just to sit at the bar. We finally elbowed our way into some seats and had two glasses of wine apiece, over the course of about 2.5 hours. We talked about our kids, our jobs, and how wonderful it was to finally be out on the town after eleven years of working together.
At some point I realized I had to pee, but as we were leaving I thought, oh well, I'll just hold it. I dropped A.R. off to her house of sleeping children/husband and made my way back to the main drag, in order to head home.
By the way, I hated this part of town even before I ran into trouble there. It's slog to get there; the roads are narrow and crowded with cars; driving through this one part of town there are about a dozen traffic lights that cover less than a mile of road, and each light has it's own rules about which lane you have to be in to go straight. If you don't remember which lane you have to be in it's easy to be forced into a turn lane. Anyway.
I saw a light that was about to turn red. I figured I could make it through the yellow and so I stepped on the gas. As I whizzed through what must have been a red light I saw a cop sitting at the intersection that I had just violated with my reckless driving. His lights came on immediately, and I pulled over to the curb.
The cop came up to my car and asked "where were you going in such a hurry?" I told him I was going home. But then I thought about that question while he was running my license and I realized that I still had to pee. Like crazy.
He came back to my window and told me that for running a red light I would be penalized with points on my license. But he also told me that I had been very nice and polite about the whole thing. He told me to pay the ticket and plead "not guilty." He then told me that if I did this I would get a court date, and that I could get the points off my license by coming to court.
I came home and peed like a race horse and then I got online paid the ticket; about two weeks later I received my court summons. The fated day was last Tuesday; I slept poorly and had bad dreams about mean judges. A friend had told me the night before that I should "admit nothing" and that I should try to fight the ticket. I was pretty sure that I would be offered a plea deal in order to get the points off my license, since that is what the cop had told me, but I really wasn't sure.
I found the court, which was very close to where I committed my traffic infraction, 15 minutes early, at 7:00 AM. It was in the basement of an old building---there were no windows, and it looked like the waiting room in a dentist's office. There were even copies of
People Magazine for me to read. There was a guy standing in front of me with a cup of diner coffee and what was probably his one good tie. He looked around nervously.
I checked in and sat down. Names started to get called, and as people opened the door to the court room I started to hear peals of laughter. Each person took a very short time, between 90 seconds and 3 minutes. I started to relax. This is going to be easy, I realized.
The judge dispensed with about 17 people in 30 minutes. Finally my name was called. The cop playing the role of bailiff was shaped like teddy bear with a beach ball tied around his waist---his belly bulged out in front of him almost as if he were pregnant. His police belt was loaded with weapons---guns, a giant metal flashlight, and a night stick. I made a mental note not to piss him off.
The judge was in his late fifties/early sixties. He had white hair flecked with dark grey, and he looked trim and healthy. He wore a pair of glasses that can only be described as spectacles. He peered down at my citation and then gave me a quick once over.
He asked, "Would you like to get the points off your license or would you like to contest the ticket?" I answered "I was hoping to get the points off my license." He said, "very well," and started scribbling something on a piece of paper.
Then he looked up at me with a big smile and said, "You know, I'm king of the red-light violators." That didn't sound right, I thought. I was expecting, and maybe even hoping, for a proper scolding. He continued.
"You know, the other night I was out with my wife and I stopped at a yellow light. She said 'why did you do that?' I said, 'I have too many tickets, something like $200 or $300 worth. I can't afford to get any more.' So that's it. No more red light violations for me. If I get rear-ended I get rear-ended."
This whole time I just stood there, knowing that he wanted me to laugh, or join in, but I just felt dumbfounded. Why was he telling me this? Was it even true? Even the torpedo-bellied bailiff looked uncomfortable. Was this a political strategy? Was this how the judge won votes come re-election time?
The judge waived my $7.00 court fee and I was free to go. It only took me 45 minutes to drive the 7 miles back to Squirrel Hill, through horrible suburban AM rush hour traffic.
On my way home I made sure to obey all the traffic laws. Because for all I knew, Judge B. might be out there, ready to plow through the next red light he came to.
