Sunday, January 23, 2005

I'm Not. That. Innocent.

I'm really over that "'sup" look from the 'hood. You know, the one where you cock your head back to the left about a quarter of a centimeter and purse your lips a little. It's like the laziest greeting ever, especially now, since the gesture itself is taken to imply the 'sup, thus rendering speaking unnecessary.

But anyway, that's what she gave me.

('Sup look from the 'hood) "Whaddaya in for?"
(Nonchalant) "I sped. You?"
(All tough gal) "Seatbelt violation. But I didn't do it."
(Huh?) "Didn't wear a seatbelt, or didn't violate a seatbelt?"
(Duh.) "Didn't have a seatbelt violation. I'm pleading not guilty. I always wear my seatbelt. Everyone should."
(Ohhh.) "Yeah. I do. I always do." (How, pray tell, do you get pulled over for a seatbelt violation? Isn't being issued a seatbelt violation like the officer admitting he was checkin' out your rack while you were in what you thought was the privacy of your own vehicle? Furthermore, can you make a citizen's arrest for the issuing officer on grounds of sexual harrassment? Those dudes deserve to have the tables turned on them every once in awhile. Except Officer Kevin.)
(Finger-combing crispy bangs) "Real crime is I was driving through Highland Park in the first place."
(Moving right along) "Yeah, they'll get ya." (Craning neck to hear: "The law's strict on this. One more violation and you're in jail." "Yeah, I know, but..." "No buts! Pay your fine and quit drivin' around trying to kill people! NEXT!" Wait... let me get this straight... the law is strict about not driving around trying to kill people? Good to know. Learn something new every court date.)
(Facade falls) "I'm not guilty. I'm not. Always. I always wear my seatbelt."
(Uh-huh, whatever) "Better hope your issuing officer's not here then."
(Wait a tic) "Yeah, better hope. Wait, why?"
(Now who's the one in the know about the justice system?) "Well, if he's not here, no one's here to bring a case against you. If he is, then it's his word against yours, and who do you think the judge is going to believe?"
(Ah. Shit.) "Well, they'll have to tell me if he's here, won't they? How am I supposed to know if I want to plead guilty or not guilty if I don't know if I could win or lose?"
(Lady, please) "They're not going to tell you. It's a crap shoot. Hey, you're up. Good luck."
(Shit, shit, shiiiiit!) "Uh-huh."

Sometimes I wonder what happened to that crispy-banged vehicle safety crusader. And by "sometimes," I mean I haven't thought about her again 'til now.

I also wonder how, when there are apparently people who don't know that it's bad to drive around on murderous rampages (which is an assumption, but a true one, I'm sure), I (innocent, white-shirt-wearing, driving a little too fast to work on a holiday, for God's sake!) could be punished for something so minor. People have too much time on their hands. Too much time to be grotsky little bi-otches.

Anyway, I'm on parole now.

And by "parole," I mean probation.

(But really, doesn't parole sound so much cooler? "Yeah, I can drive to lunch, but I should call my parooooh-le officer first. Can't be too careful, ya know, when you're on parooooh-le." Yeah, totally sexy.)