BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Part 2 of 2…

Continued from: Yes Sir, Officer Obie…

When last we left off I had just received a driving award from the City of Saint Ann, Missouri, presented by Officer JellyDonut.

Now, something I need to point out. I hate driving. I consider it a nuisance. However, I also see it as a responsibility. Therefore, I am one of your safer individuals on the road. I realize everyone says that, but EKay and my friends are always insisting that I NOT drive on road trips because I actually obey the speed limit and it will take us too long to get where we are going. True story.

Therefore, I am hoping it won’t come as any surprise to you that this was only the second ticket I had ever received in my life, because… Well, to be honest, it’s the truth. I know, it kinda spoils my bad boy image, but what can I say? At any rate, that first citation had been for following too closely. I was awarded with that one in Perry County, Missouri, a notorious speed trap, while I was on my way to visit relatives in Fulton, Kentucky. That was 24 years ago this coming Christmas Day. In that particular case, while I was actually following someone who was showing me a different route I’d never taken before, I probably was following too closely and deserved the ticket, notorious speed trap or not.

So, here I was, just shy of 24 years later with a brand new driving award. I figured what the hell. Going to court to contest it will just eat up time, and an attorney is just going to cost a mess of money. I’ll just pay the fine and be done with it. Good plan, eh?

I thought so. The City of Saint Ann, however, did not… I called the court and asked about the fine. A very rude woman barked, “Court appearance only!” I wondered silently if she was perhaps Officer JellyDonut’s sister. I tried to explain that the officer had told me I could simply plead guilty and pay the fine, however, before I could finish the sentence she all but yelled, “Court Appearance Only!” and hung up in my ear.

Now I was convinced that she was related to Officer JellyDonut.

I contacted some of my cop buddies and asked them to look into it, which they did, but met with resistance themselves. I didn’t want them to “fix” the ticket. I just wanted to pay the fine and be done, but the City of Saint Ann wasn’t going to let that happen.

Therefore, I had no choice but to wait. Which I did. But, I won’t make you wait because it would be kind of boring…

December 1st finally rolled around and I had gathered my ammunition. I figured if I was going to court anyway I might as well contest the ticket. So, I had printed copies of the Missouri Vehicle Regulations as well as the Missouri Driver Guide, both of which stated the limit was five feet, not two. In addition I had my own personal measurements, but in order to back that up I also had the manufacturer’s detailed dimensions of the vehicle and cargo area, along with the length of the item in question, for which I could produce a dated and time stamped receipt if necessary. The math – length of item minus cargo area – fully supported my claim. The projection could not have been sticking out 5 feet 3 inches from the rear of my vehicle.

Now, I’ll be honest – I’ve never been to traffic court before, so I was a little nervous. I was about to do what I had been taught not to do – I was going to argue with a cop and a judge. But, hey… That’s sort of what court is for, right?

After researching procedure I determined that it would be best for me to arrive early, as the accused are taken in the order they show up. So, I put on some nice clothes, tucked my documentation into my pocket, and carried myself off to Municipal Traffic Court 30 minutes early.

Here was the problem. I was thirty minutes early based on the time Officer JellyDonut had given me. I had also called to verify the time and had been given same by Sister JellyDonut. Thing is, court had been in full swing for some time. Fortunately, I wasn’t late. I just wasn’t the first in line… In fact, I was damn near the last in line.

Nothing I could do about it now. I was in for the long haul. I stood in the line, waiting to go through the metal detector. When I made it to the head of that particular line I dumped my valuables into the tray, walked through, then waited as Officer Bewildered became intensely confused by the 2 GB flash drive in the tray. It took him a bit to decide that it wasn’t a high tech terrorist weapon and didn’t pose a threat to Municipal Security, whereupon I was finally allowed collect my belongings. I told him thank you, to which he appeared to become even more confused.

I entered the courtroom and found myself a seat among all of the other criminals, then proceeded to watch the Kangaroos in action.

Now, the reason this entry is title The Group W Bench is simple. That’s where I was sitting. Granted, I was on a hard metal chair that made my hemorrhoids ache, but for all intents and purposes it was the Group W Bench.

On my left was an older man who kept wobbling in his chair and muttering to himself. Throughout the three hours that followed he would hand me his AA coin and ask me to read it to him.

On my right was Pig Boy. That’s pretty much all I can think of to call him. I came up with that not because he was almost as big as Officer JellyDonut, which he was, but because he sat next to me grunting like a pig. In between grunts he would mutter commentary about each pending case in the front of the room. Well, I should be a bit more accurate, his commentary wasn’t so much about the cases per se, as it was about the women involved in them. Whenever the accused was male, he would just sit there and grunt. But, if a woman was up in front of the judge, the grunting accelerated and was punctuated by commentary. Unfortunately for me there was a bumper crop of women coming up before the judge that particular evening so my right ear – which is my good ear – was treated to grunty, under-the-breath observations like, “I’d fuck her…” “too old…” “Whore…” “Great ass…” and so on…

What’s worse, he was a straggler who came in after I did, which meant I had to endure him almost the whole night. What’s even worse than that is the fact that somehow or another he was called up a few folks before me. Figure that one out.

And so, for three hours I sat. Reading an AA coin to a man I didn’t know from Adam, while watching Officer JellyDonut – yes, he was there – act pissy toward men, but flirt with all the women. Hmmm… Maybe he was related to Pig Boy too…

I saw a woman get fined more than $150 for jaywalking, while the next case, who was some idiot who had been driving on a suspended license, was dismissed. I witnessed people having cuffs slapped on them and hauled out of the room, and I saw other wingnuts tell the judge they needed a continuance “just because”…

A pretty woman of African-American descent was called up before the judge at one point. She was wearing a sharp looking business suit, stylish leather jacket with matching handbag, and some high dollar heels. Seriously. She was probably wearing and/or carrying a $400 ensemble, easy, because they sure didn’t look like knockoffs to me. I don’t claim to be an expert, but I’ve shopped for the Evil One on a few occasions. At any rate, turns out she owed several hundred on tickets and failure to appear charges – but informed the judge she couldn’t afford it. If I was her I would have dressed down for court if that was going to be my story.

The major offenses of the evening seemed to be driving on suspended licenses, or without insurance. Those seemed to be the easy ones. Show a license or insurance card, the case would be dismissed save for the $25.50 court costs. There were a few folks who had unpaid tickets dating back to 2003. They were easy too. They just got themselves continuances. I think maybe my favorite was the woman who claimed to have had her license reinstated. They had her sit down while they ran her through the computer. She came back as suspended, AND with two outstanding arrest warrants. No big surprise there, I don’t guess. What was a bit of a shocker though was when the judge told her he would just ignore the arrest warrants and give her a continuance.

From the looks of things, I figured if I ever managed to get my minute or two in front of the judge, I should be in good shape because I was somewhere in the middle. I didn’t have a warrant out for my arrest, so he wasn’t going to just dismiss my case outright, but by the same token I hadn’t jaywalked, so the odds were against me being led out of the courtroom in handcuffs.

And so, I continued to sit and watch the circus, alternately reading an AA coin to a stranger, and listening to rude, sexually-oriented comments from another. Finally, after nearly three hours, my name was called – or, a vaguely recognizable facsimile thereof (which is another story in and of itself) and I stepped up before the judge.

“Good evening, sir,” I said.

In my hands I held paperwork. Literal proof by both law, manufacturer’s specs, and tape measure that I was innocent of the crime for which I had been unjustly accused. I had already planned – not rehearsed, mind you, but planned – that I would NOT be disrespectful to, or about, Officer JellyDonut, even though I believed him to be utterly incompetent (I still believe that, by the way.) I was simply going to write it off to everyone being fallible and the improper measurement being an honest mistake or perhaps a faulty measuring device.

However…

You saw that coming, right?

The judge looked at my file, mouth the words “reckless driving” with a look of absolute astonishment, then shook his head, rolled his eyes, pointed to a row of chairs and said, “Mister Sellens [sic] why don’t you sit down for a bit.”

At this point I figured I’d been moved to the Group X bench. I wasn’t quite sure what was up, but he proceeded to mumble with the city attorney (at least, that’s who I think the guy was) then a minute or two later said attorney came over to the corner of the desk and called me up. He proceeded to improperly paraphrase what the ticket said and asked if that is what I understood the charge to be. I said yes, though I explained that it was not an unsecured load as he had just stated, but a missing flag. He corrected himself. I then proceeded to explain that per state law the limit is 5 feet not 2. He indicated that they knew this, which was apparently why I was talking to him instead of the judge. However, my sheaf of paper with specs, circles, arrows, and paragraphs were to be of no use to me. When I began to explain that the measurement was inaccurate he told me that they were going to take Officer JellyDonut’s word on the measurement. It seemed that even though he was woefully misinformed about the traffic and vehicular laws he was supposed to be enforcing, they were going to trust him to operate a tape measure and actually know where the vehicle ended and highly technical things like that. I mean, after all, they let him carry a gun, right?

And so, I was not allowed to present my case. I suppose I could have been far more adamant, insisting that it be brought before the judge and that I be allowed to present irrefutable evidence that Officer JellyDonut was in error. However, it was almost 9 PM. I had memorized the AA coin and been listening to Pig Boy for three hours. It was hot, stuffy, smelly, and all around unpleasant in the room. I was tired, annoyed, and stressed. People had been and still were coughing, sneezing, and snotting all around me, including the judge who had been through an entire box of tissues already.

I just sighed.

The attorney guy looked at me and said, “We’re just going to make this into a $49.50 parking ticket plus $25.50 court costs. So, a $75.00 fine and you promise you’ll never do it again.”

I looked at Officer NoButt who was holding up his britches with one hand and guarding the court with the other. I heard someone start sneezing behind me.

“Sounds fine to me,” I said. “Thank you and have a wonderful evening.”

I paid my fine the next morning. The folks behind the counter were rude and sarcastic. I wished them a wonderful day nonetheless.

Saint Ann is now a part of my no-fly zone. For various reasons I will have no choice but to venture into their airspace from time to time, but unless it is absolutely necessary, I’ll get to Bridgeton via Berkley from here on out.

Yeah, okay… So, it didn’t turn out quite as funny as most of my other blogs, but hey, at least now you know the story…

More to come…

Murv

If you’ve been reading this blog for any period of time whatsoever, you already know that I’ve made no secret of the fact that E K and I were married on Halloween, way back in nineteen-hundred and eighty-sevum…

For several years afterward, in addition to treating ourselves to a night out with dinner and all the trimmings, we would either attend – or on a number of occasions hold ourselves – a costume party. Sort of a combination Halloween Costume/Anniversary bash. There was even a stretch where the parties had “themes” to coincide with the number of years we had been married. Of course, life can tend to get in the way, as we all know, and those parties have gone by the wayside. We’re seriously considering resurrecting them, but not this year.

Still, I thought it might be fun to dig through the archives and see what we had in the way of pictures of our costumes back in the day. Of course, nothing will be able to top our 1987 Bride and Groom costumes pictured above.

Unfortunately, as I began digging I discovered that many of our costumes over the years were never photographed with our own cameras, therefore we have no pictures of them. Someone out there does, I’m sure, but that doesn’t help me much as far as this blog is concerned (LOL). So, I will see if I can rattle off the costumes I can remember, and post the scant few pictures I was able to find.

I’ll tell you up front, a not so surprising theme starts to develop…

1986 – Shortly after moving in together we attended a costume party at the apartment of a couple we knew. Being on a tight budget we used whatever we had on hand – E K was a Dominatrix and I was her Slave. I somehow doubt it surprises anyone that The Evil Redhead already had the necessary clothing and props to pull this off…

1987 – The wedding, pictured above. E K reprised her 1986 costume by attending as a “Dominatrix in White.” Me? Well, I officially became her Property in the eyes of the law. Trust me, she has a piece of paper from the State of Missouri to prove it.

1988 – We attended a MAJOR costume party at the home of a friend of one of  E Kay’s co-workers. This was one of those legendary, long-running, gi-hugic bashes with overflowing attendance, plenty of booze, and a costume contest that required knowing the right people in order to wrangle an invite. Fortunately, we did.  E K was a Dominatrix Cop and I was her Prisoner/Punching Bag.

We weren’t flush with cash at this point in our lives, however we both had good jobs with steady paychecks, and we were keeping the bills paid – and had a little extra. Given that, we used some things that we had on-hand, but also invested in some props and other accouterments to really jazz up the costumes. This involved some trips to surplus stores, toy stores (back when plastic toy guns actually looked like the real thing), and even some sewing. Of course, E K already had the leather skirt and stiletto heels on hand, go figure.

The Evil Redhead spent the entire evening dragging me around the party by my shirt collar or by the handcuffs she had slapped on me (and didn’t take off for several hours). To the delight of the other party goers – and her own as well, I suspect – she kicked, stomped, slapped, beat, and threatened me the whole night as well.

Some of the attendees, while realizing we were in costume, actually thought E K was a real cop, albeit a very mean and nasty one. By remaining in character we were nominated as finalists for the costume contest, which in and of itself was a major accomplishment. When it came time for the vote and the nominees were brought into the center of the party, E K played it up like a pro by slapping me around some more, yelling at me, then tripping me and holding me to the floor with her foot on my chest while posing for countless pictures taken by the applauding crowd. (Not the picture shown here. That one was taken pre-party.)

In the end it paid off. We tied for the win. Actually, the host had previously had a single winner at the parties so he only had one prize, but this particular year he created a single and couple category. We won the couple category hands down. The prize? The winners (single and couple) split a case of Budweiser longnecks. Hey, a 12 pack is a 12 pack, and it’s even better when you don’t have to pay for it.

1989 – 1993 – Costume parties were sporadic during this period. When we did happen to attend one, we resurrected the Cop/Convict, Dominatrix/Slave outfits because we had them on hand. Although, there was one particular party where E K donned a long, frizzy wig and some sixtiesish garb and went as a flower child. For some long forgotten reason I was costumeless at that particular shindig.

1994 – The themes start taking shape. Our costumes that year were simple, but effective. It was our 7th anniversary so we held a huge party. We both wore gray sweatshirts done up like jerseys with a huge number 7 front & back and our names across the shoulders. Of course, our names that night were Itchy and Scratchy. We rented the classic movie “The 7 Year Itch” and played it in an endless loop during the shindig.

1995 – In keeping with the “numeric” theme idea we needed to find something that worked with 8. Being Halloween and all, spiders seemed to fit the bill.

We went with a Bride & Groom sort of idea, but turned it into a creepy “Black Widow” and her bitten, corpsified prey sort of thing. E K looked smoking hot in her long, black lace gown, of course. She also added the red hourglass marking for effect. I did a tux shirt and tie, then she covered me with the fake cobweb stuff and little plastic spiders. As an accessory decoration – one that freaked out many of our guests – we had a huge, twine spiderweb strung up in the exposed rafters of our living room, and in the center was a gigantic, 3 foot wide rubber spider hanging over everyone’s heads. We added to the ambiance of the Addams Family/Muenster Household decor with strategically hidden coolers filled with dry ice to generate a misty fog.

1996 – Anniversary number 9. I have searched high and low for pictures from this party and can find none at all, which is a total bummer. E K focused in on the whole 9 = 9 Lives sort of thing, so our costumes that year were “The Cool Cats.”

The evil redhead did the black turtleneck and leggings thing, with a black cat tail and cat ears sticking up around a beret. I was in similar beatnick garb with an orange tail and ears. I had a toy saxophone hanging around my neck, and we both had our faces painted with whiskers and were wearing cheap sunglasses.

1997 – The big 10th anniversary, and to be honest it snuck up on us. The only quickly doable theme we could come up with was the children’s song, “10 Little Indians.” Not exactly P C, but we were in a rush. We picked up a bag of tiny little “Indian” dolls at a party supply store and sewed 10 each to the front of our shirts. I know, not exactly inspired, but like I said, we were in a rush.

1998 – 11 years and going strong. We had absolutely NO clue what to do with the number 11, so it turned into a free for all. Any guesses on our costumes? Yeah, Dominatrix and Slave. See, I told you there was a definite pattern developing…

That was the last costume party we hosted, and the last one we have attended to my recollection. As I said, we are considering a revival, perhaps next year.

Any bets on what our costumes will end up being?

Hey, I’m not complaining. E K would REALLY hurt me if I did…

Happy Halloween – Samhain – Great Pumpkin Night to all!

More to come…

Murv