Restitution

So many of you know about my encounter with the law. You can read the saga, part 1, here.

Part II unfolded on December 2, 2009, at approximately 8:45 a.m. I left my house in the pouring rain. I triple checked my folder to make sure I had my citation for expired Arkansas tags, and my print-out from the TN DMV stating that I purchased my TN tags, exactly 2 days after the offense. Please note that my citation occurred on a Saturday, or it would have been one day.

From my house, I only had to drive across the bridge and four blocks to 201 Popular. From what I'm told, if you're raised in Memphis, you know that 201 Popular is the courthouse and jail, and the address is scarred into children as a mantra.

My court appearance was 9 a.m. Apparently every other felon/criminal in Shelby County had the same court time as me. The streets were crowded with criminals, or soon-to-be-convicted criminal, rolling out of vehicles in the middle of the street. I guess when you're actually arrested, unlike me, you may get your driver's license revoked, or maybe you never had it, and that's why you were breaking into houses and starting fights with your girlfriend in the beginning.

So me and every other Memphis thug are fighting our way into 201 Popular. I chose a Pay For The Day parking lot across the street from 201 Popular and paid $6 to park Big V. I left Big V to socialize with the Crown Vics and walked across the street, in the rain, into 201 Popular.

I guess due to security, and to the sheer volume of criminal thugs, me included at this point, that enter the court house every day, they have created one entrance. Everyone had to go through the same security; everyone rides the same elevator; and everyone walks the same hallways.

Upon my entrance, I am clearly a deer in the headlights, as I, thankfully, don't know my way around this criminal household, and so I begin reading every sign I see and looking to where the majority of people are walking.

Most of the people I entered the building with form a line up the stairs and to my right. I figure that if there is a line, it's safe to go stand in it. It is a VERY long line, and as I'm doubling the hallway to find the end of it, I begin to think it's really not my crowd. As I finally find the end of the line, I look up and the sign above me reads Jail Visitors Security.

Ummmm, no. I am not here to visit my baby's daddy or any other relative in JAIL. I quickly looked around and spotted a security guard. Knowing that MY very security was in jeopardy,  I practically shouted out, "I'm here for traffic court!" It appeared he was a seasoned veteran of the Shelby County jail/courthouse, and I was not the first 5'1", Caucasian female that had cried out to him, and so without flinching he said, "You need to go downstairs." I saw the elevators down the hall, and I made a break for it. I think the jail visitors were sad to see me go, but self preservation kicked it. Flight or fight, and I flighted!

At this point, I remembered the wisdom of the officer who had originally pulled me over. He said, "Go downstairs. You don't need to be upstairs." He was right. I did not need to be upstairs.

So I boarded the elevator awaiting the paradise that was to be traffic court, with nice, non-criminal people who had just let time elapse and meant no harm to the community. Like I had.

No. I was still in the Shelby County court house. It turned out that downstairs had its own security line, which I had to stand in with every other criminal or relative of a criminal in Shelby County--non-jail visiting as they were.

Because I was afraid the court would ask me for some piece of paper that I didn't have, I brought every document regarding my car in a file folder, which I placed in my work bag, which is very cute and embroidered with my name thanks to Anna Parker Morshedi and her wedding favors for bridesmaids. I digress.

I stand in the security line for all of us non-jail-visiting people, until finally I have to place my Cole Hann purse and above-mentioned bag into the conveyor belt. I'm pretty sure the security guard didn't glance at my belongings during the scan due to the fact he was chatting with people that appeared to be regulars. Regulars.

After security, I was off to find division 1 traffic court. This was no easy task because there were no signs or blinking arrows pointing the lost girl where to go. I decided to ask everyone I saw where to go because the hallways and escalators and huge lines looked more like ant farms than anything else. I asked security guards, and they would point me down one hall. At the end of that hall, I would ask police officers, who would direct me down another hall. At that point, I even asked a "regular,' and he directed me to another hall, where I finally found the line I was suppose to be in. There was a cute girl in front of me. I gently asked if she was in the line for the district 1 traffic court, and with quite a bit of a wild hair in her eyes, she answered yes. I knew what she had been through to get there, so I politely thanked her and stood in line.

They call you in three at a time in division 1 traffic court. When it was my time, I walked cautiously into the court room, expecting a mean judge and a panel of punishment-driven jurors; however, what I found was a clerk, or some other non-judge like person, at the side table calling people's names.

I walked up to her desk when asked; I provided her with my paperwork; she signed her name; pronounced Case Dismissed; and I left.

After all of that?!!? After taking my safety into my own hands? After parking in the $6/day parking lot? After standing in the Jail Visitor security line?!?! That's it???

I felt like I deserved a medal, or a gold-sealed letter from Shelby County thanking me for completing my restitution. But no. None did I receive. 

I made my way out of 201 Poplar, back to Big V, who had won over most of the Crown Vics, and headed to work.

My brush with the law was done for now, but Shelby County jail visitors will be wishing that I'll slip up in the future.

Well Officer you are right, my tags are expired

Saturday morning I was headed to the Farmers' Market to donate my time, energy and Saturday morning. I turned out of our little neighborhood, and was turning onto the main strip on the island. Their was a cop at the stop sign, and I thought to myself, "how nice that he is patrolling the crosswalk, because no one seems to stop for pedestrians."

I took my left-hand turn and continued on. Several seconds, maybe a minute, later I noticed the police officer was behind me with his blue lights flashing. Um, Me? I definitely wasn't speeding so  I thought maybe he wanted to get past me. I looked for a place to pull over, but the strip has grass on one side that leads to the water and the houses on the left. I didn't want to ruin any grass (my association fees pay that) so I continued on to the next street intersection.

At this point, I realized he was actually after me because he put his sirens on. Um, what? So, I pulled off on the first available street. I was quite frazzled because even though I knew I wasn't speeding, I couldn't imagine what he wanted with me. I actually hit the curb as I pulled over, and then feared he would site me as drunk at 9:55 am.

He got out of his car. "Ma'am, have you never been pulled over before?"

Well, I really hadn't except the time in high school when I was leaving the senior breakfast, and a police office pulled me over because I had writing on the back of my windshield.

"Well, no, officer," I said. "I haven't been pulled over before. Could you tell?"

"Yeah I can tell. Usually, you just need to pull off to the side of the road."

In an effort not to cause a fight about how I pay for the upkeep of the grass in this neighborhood, I just apologized again, and said how I had not been pulled over before.

"Do you know you're driving on expired tags?"

Oh crap. I have moved three times in the past six or eight months, and I realized that it was entirely possible I was driving on expired tags. How did I expect Arkansas to find me in Tennessee? It was on my list of grown-up things to do, but I really hadn't thought to double check it.

"Oh, really?!?" I said, in my lime green farmers' market volunteer t-shirt. "I just moved here."

"uh huh"

About that time, another police officer pulled in, because apparently it takes two Memphis police officers to pull over a petite white girl in a Volvo for expired tags at 10 in the morning.

This second police officer was a woman, and began talking to the first police officer about the "detail" she was on the previous night. Ummmm, I am usually a huge Law & Order fan, but at this point I was way late for the farmers' market, and not sure what was to become of me.

After a while of the girl cop telling the first-man-on-the-scene guy cop about her detail job, he sauntered back to my car. "The good thing is this ticket isn't going to cost you anything," he says.

"oh wonderful!" I say.

"The bad things is that it's a mandatory court appearance for December 9th."

Ummmmmm, what? I have to go to court? My law-abiding, never-had-a-traffic-ticket or broken the law in anyway person?

"Ok, " I say. "Where can I go to get new tags?"

At this point, the guy and girl cop have a conversation, really without me, where they discuss which offices have license plate services, which have inspection services (which is required in TN) and which are closest to downtown.

After another 10 minutes of this conversation, I politely tell them that I, being the new person in town, will just mapquest it, and I thanked them for their time.

So yes. I have a date in court. With a judge. The guy police officer told me that if I get my new tags before December 9th, and then appear in court, the judge will throw the case out. So why you ask do I still have to go to court on that date? Because there may be a little too much red tape in this country. I mean, come on!

Status report as of Monday: I have purchased and received my new TN license plate and tags. I will continue to wait until Dec. 9th until I can tell a judge this. Maybe I'll call the court house just to ask if anyone can assuage this injustice. I doubt it.