Criminal Activity

A few weeks ago, I committed the highest offense known to a public safety official.

It was the worst kind of misdeed. The evil of all evils. "El diablo" of crimes.

I ran a stop sign.

(from here)

I was notified of my transgression by one of Provo's finest, who promptly pulled me over. (I have since been informed that this particular officer enjoys hiding by that particular 3-way stop in hopes of catching young felons, such as myself).

We went through the basic formalities; I apologized and asked if I was speeding. He said that I wasn't, and to my surprise, informed me that I had run a stop sign. I wasn't aware that I had trespassed so grievously, but I figured he knew what he was talking about.

He took my license back to his car and did a quick background check to make sure I wasn't a fugitive on the lam. When he returned, he handed me a piece of paper.

"You need to go to the Provo Court and talk to the clerk within two weeks. But not before next Thursday."

Court? Wouldn't it have been easier to just write me a ticket?

(Let me interject here to clear up a misconception. I was told by all of my friends in high school that crying will always get you out of a ticket. Allow me to disagree. I was very sick, I had a fever and had been running errands all day. So when I was pulled over, tears were most certainly shed. And stony hearts remained unsoftened. I still got fined. Maybe I should have flashed him an ankle.)

I was worried Silas would be upset with me. My fears were misplaced.

"You have to go to court, you have to go to court!" he teased me, elated. "Haha!"

I explained to him that I wasn't really going to court, I just had to talk to a clerk. His happiness was not to be dampened.

"You have to go to court!" he sang.

When I arrived at the Provo City Justice Court on the fated day, I was escorted through a metal detector and my purse was searched. It was just like being at the airport, only without the moving sidewalks.

I handed my form to the receptionist, who smiled and entered my information. "Do you want to go talk to the court clerk to see if you can get your fine lowered?" she asked.

I wasn't going to waste my time trying to argue about something pointless. If the officer said I ran a stop sign, then I did.

"No, thank you," I said, turning away.

"Are you sure?" she said, motioning me toward a door. "Her office is right there."

Fine. I went in.

The lady didn't glance up from her computer before asking me in a monotone voice what I wanted. I told her I'd run a stop sign.

She looked at me like I was deaf. "So what do you want?"

"Oh. Um, they said to talk to you about getting it reduced."

She took the paper from me, and handed it back. "I can knock it down $20."

I suddenly realized what was going on.

This lady was magic.

I ran home to get my utility bills and car payment.