Traffic Court

So, went into traffic court today and brought Chicken just for company. One of my favorite things about court is people watching. I run in isolated circles these days and I gotta tell ya, I get tired of little old ladies at the pool.

So, three quick highlights here–because what fun is it without highlights?

*  The Bailiff– So, I was totally guilty. I knew I was when I walked in, but seriously–I’ve gotten three tickets at this damned intersection and the entire reason I went in instead of just paying the fine is to find out who I talk to about maybe getting a green light arrow installed in the damned intersection. Anyway–     you don’t really get that opportunity when you’re talking to the judge, but in my case I lucked out.

“Did you see the video of the transgression?” the judge asked me dispassionately.

“No!” I said, jumping on this. “The video was out at the kiosk and I couldn’t pull it up at my home computer.”

“Sit with the bailiff and he’ll show it to you,” the judge said, and while I was rooting for the video to be lost so it would be case dismissed, I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

Instead, the bailiff showed me in traffic, sucking on an ice water, ZoomBoy blacked out next to me, and said, “This is you?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Do you want to contest this?”

“OH no–I’m totally guilty. I’m just wondering–where would I go to talk about the intersection. I’ve been driving for over thirty years, I’ve got maybe six moving violations total, and three of them are at this intersection.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Citrus Heights is famous for three intersections that are constantly off–this is one of them.”

Seriously–just the  validation alone.

Anyway, he told me to go to a town hall meeting and see if I couldn’t get the damned intersection put on the docket.

So, that was cool.

*  Chiffon.

Chicken and I were waiting to pay the fine–and this is where things got long and boring.

Anyway, we were talking to a young lady named Chiffon. (I say young, but she was in her thirties–she was just fun to talk to!)

Anyway, Chiffon was there because she borrowed a car from her brother to run an errand, got stopped by a cop on registration (not her fault) and no proof of insurance (again–not her car, not her fault).  She was there to ask for a court date so she could tell somebody, “Hey, NOT MY FAULT!” Because seriously– a no insurance violation is $870. If she could just get that cut in half, it would be worth the effort, right?

Anyway– we talked about everything from traffic tickets to the times our neighbors got raided to her unique and wonderful name and how it was weird that people couldn’t pronounce it when it was spelled like it sounds–like the fabric or the cake.

And Chicken listened and laughed, and I met someone new.

So, again, cool.

*  And finally, in traffic court, we met Thor.

Or his twin.

Or just some random god.

Because…

*sob*

He had a blond undercut–the most glorious wheat colored hair, shaved on the sides and caught in a tiny knot at his crown, and a full, luscious beard the same glorious color of golden beer, and sky colored eyes and lips made of sin.

I’m not kidding.

He was dressed in black leather–black leather!– and when the judge asked him if he knew he was forfeiting the rights listed on the wall and if he could read them, he said, “No. I’m sorry. My English not so good.”

“We can get you a translator. Which language?”

“Russian.”

And then all the women’s panties exploded, and we’re all pregnant with motorcycle babies.

Okay–maybe not that last thing but…

But…

Chicken and I waxed rhapsodic about this guy for the rest of the day.

Squish said, “So, was he so pretty you wanted to poke him in the face to see if he was real.”

“No,” I said seriously. “He was so pretty we wanted to grab him in the ass to see if he was real.”

Chicken whimpered. “That’s totally fair,” she said. “Not that you should ever grab anybody’s ass without consent.”

“But if this guy gave consent, you should totally take advantage,” I added. “You don’t get many offers like that in a lifetime.”

So there you go.

I talked to a bailiff, met a nice woman, and saw a god.

Not a bad day, really.