The evil ice storm of ‘08 has passed, leaving only a few small patches of the slick stuff and lots of steaming dampness. All the snow became mush the moment the sun came up, so sledding was like trying to slide through cold oatmeal. Yesterday afternoon I drove the kids up Town Mountain to their grandparents’ home to see if there was better snow up there, but to no avail. It was all wet slush. Great for snowballs, however. And snowpeople, although none of them lasted long. Remember when Frosty melts in the old cartoon and everyone cries and cries? But then the magic hat returns and all is well. I think I need a magic hat.
Anyway, I spent most of the snow day sitting on my widening heinie at the Buncombe County Courthouse. I got out of my traffic violation (passing a school bus from three lanes over on Merrimon when faced with the choice of slamming on the brakes and causing a multi-vehicle pile-up or coasting past the school bus, pulling over, and waiting for the two cops sitting behind the bus to come and get me). Yes, I was released, I assume because I have a perfect driving record, no felonies, and I pleaded guilty, showed remorse, and told my story concisely (including the fact that my kids ride a school bus up and down Merrimon Avenue twice per day, and that I’m fully aware of the law, and I curse at the oblivious people whom I watch pass my kids’ school bus daily ON the SAME side of the road).
The last time I was in court, I was 19, because I’d run a yellowish light which another teenager was timing the other direction, and we crashed in the middle of the intersection. Luckily, no one was hurt, in particular my roommate, who was vomiting out of the passenger window at the time, which might be why I wasn’t paying close attention to the light. This was in Atlanta, where there is actual traffic court. So, you sit in court with other people who have done silly things like not using their turn signals and inadvertently driving past school buses.
Here in Buncombe County, however, traffic violators are sent to criminal court. Which, I suppose, is much more exciting. For the first two hours, we just sat there, waiting for the judge to show up. No one ever said why the judge was late. In fact, the attorneys mostly ignored us criminals. Luckily, I brought a 700-page novel with me, Tree of Smoke. Amazingly, I seemed to be the only person out of over 100 accused who had thought to bring any reading material. So while I caught up on the Vietnam War, everyone else just sat, silently, pondering their fates. At one point, I started to wonder if books, like cell phones, were illegal in the courtroom. Would the baliff confiscate my book if he saw it? I guess it’d make a good doorstop.
But the baliff either didn’t notice or didn’t care that I was reading for two hours while we all sat, quiet and glum in the fluorescent bleakness of the courtroom. Then, right when I was in the middle of the Tet Offensive, the judge showed up. It was still another three hours before my traffic violation got dealt with, however, so I was able to get through the entire Offensive, while taking breaks to listen to some of the more interesting cases, which included assault with a deadly weapon, several DUIs, resisting arrest, lots of drug and drug paraphernalia possessions, and trespassing.
Here’s what I learned. If I’d paid a lawyer, I would not have had to sit there for five hours. Folks with lawyers seem to get taken care of first. I guess because those lawyers’ time is so valuable. Secondly, perhaps a lawyer could’ve cut through the differing tales I got throughout this process. The DMV gave me erroneous information, which ended up in my sending $11 to Raleigh to get my driving record, which the Assistant DA here was able to get on her computer in 30 seconds. The APA gave me erroneous information, telling me I couldn’t ask for a PJC (Prayer for Judgment Continued) for passing a school bus. Even the judge ended up being unclear on this one, and I had to stand in front of that table waiting while the clerk made a phone call. It turned out that PJC can be applied to passing a school bus but no longer works for speeding (so don’t speed–you’ll pay). I learned not to trust the court calendars that are published on-line. My name and date weren’t even listed, and I panicked, thinking I had the wrong day. I learned that the bailiff likes to yell at people, particularly those of us who don’t get all the old-fashioned rules of the court. Like when the APA told me to come here, and I did, but I passed some imaginary line that us criminals aren’t allowed past and got yelled at by the bailiff. Maybe he thought I was going to clock the APA with my book.
Finally, the court cares not for snow days. Luckily, E-spouse was in town, or I would’ve been begging my neighbors to care for my kids on mushy snow day.
Mostly, though, court was depressing. I know there are some bad people out there, but most of the people sitting with me yesterday just seemed poor and sad. Many of them were in the wrong place at the wrong time or made an error in judgment or just did something dumb. Most of them don’t have the cash to pay for court costs, lawyers, and fines. There did seem to be some compassion, on the part of the judge and some of the defense attorneys, though, which made me hopeful.
So that was my snow day. How was yours?
