Because sometimes God hates me, I was forced to appear in court this morning. My infraction, you see, was for running a stop sign on my way to jury duty, and then having out of date registration and insurance. I’m sure you’re asking yourself, what kind of asshole can’t register and get insurance. Well, the kind that let’s her dad run her life. And apparently, sometimes dad’s fuck up paperwork. The thing is, my father moves heaven and earth to make me happy hourly, so I can’t really give him shit about my registration and insurance, particularly as he funds it. He immediately remedied the problem, and sadly put everything in my name, but not before I got assigned my court date. And that day was today. I actually had to attend Traffic Court, with all the criminals and hookers and transients. Back at my old haunt, the Hall of Justice, I found myself in a room filled with an eclectic mix of immigrants, white trash, and supermodels. I like to think I’m a combo of all three. Anyway, I quickly befriended Ylena, a 23 year old Russian who was so breathtaking, I instantly hated her. Ylena was pulled over for running a stop sign as well, although she maintained she was pulled over because she was a 23 year old in a BMW, whatever that means. Ylena had a fabulous Marc Jacobs bag, Seven jeans, a glorious off the shoulder top, black wedge heels, and diamond encrusted sunglasses. I decided she was a mail order bride who got both very lucky, and a subscription to Vogue.
We’re all standing and sitting in this big empty room, Ylena and I chatting away in the corner, when suddenly, this Chinese dude with his parents in tow asks aloud, “If your name isn’t on the list outside, where do you go?”
There’s a list? Half the room runs into the hall, and Ylena and I quickly found our names. Next to mine, I found the word, “arraignment.” Holy Shit. I watch enough A&E to be well aware of that word, and pretty much equate guaranteed jail time with it. I was relieved to find that Ylena was also being arraigned, and perhaps her rich American husband could come bail us both out. She kept walking in circles, asking, “What mean arraignment? I do not know this word”
Soon, the courtroom was opened and we were instructed to sit down. Obviously, Ylena and I sat together and immediately began chatting. Suddenly, the bailiff practically yells, “No talking in the courtroom.”
Ylena pipes up, “Fuck you, policeman.” I scoot one chair over.
We’re called by name and given our paperwork, mine being hand scrawled by Officer Jackass, complete with a gallon of white-out and doodles. I’m delighted he’s taken my arraignment so seriously.
We’re instructed that we have 3 options; confess, plead not guilty which means you have to come back to trial in 45 days, or go to traffic court. I chose the obvious traffic court. The traffic court people get to go first anyway, and while waiting in line, I discovered another woman who had both registration issues and a traffic violation. This made me feel better. I approached the desk, and requested traffic school, as well as provided my current and up to date registration and insurance. Because I was the retard who didn’t have insurance, I have to pay $100. Because I was the retard who ignored the stop sign, I have to pay $74. And because I’m the retard who seems to feel a subconscious need to provide the City and County of San Francisco with all of my money, I have to pay a $10 filing fee.
Thus, my total for cost for running a stop-sign on my way to Jury Duty is $184. Add to that parking and traffic school fees, and we’re at $250. For running a stop sign.
I didn’t stick around to find out what happened to Ylena. I wanted to get the hell out of there. I crossed the street, handed over the 47 billion dollars it costs to park, and waited for 7 Amish women to board a minivan before I could speed away, running stop signs, throwing litter, and causing general mayhem.
I have been to the Hall of Justice 6 (six) times this year. That’s obscene. They actually know me at the parking lot. This has got to stop. From now on, I’m going to try harder to abide by the laws of the land. I swear. Although, I’m going over to Andy’s now. You never know. I could easily be in jail by this evening.