My name is Wine Dog and I’m a addicted to speed. And I can’t seem to learn my lesson. Keeping my license and insurance has become an art form. For the most part one ticket is always showing up and I’m always going to traffic school to get rid of the other one. I’ve gone to traffic school simultaneously in two jurisdictions before and circumvented the system. I’ve gotten three tickets in the same day and I’ve gotten five in the same week. And it that day wasn’t in the week. I sold my turbocharged MX6 and bought a Toyota 4X4 with the 22R engine just hoping I couldn’t get the damn thing going fast enough to get a ticket. (I got fewer tickets in the truck than any other vehicle I’ve owned) When I bought the BMW I got a 525i. Not because I’m cheap, but rather because it was fast enough for me. Whatever advantage that extra .5 liter of displacement might be attained in the 530i, I couldn’t take the chance of owning any more power at the end of my lead ridden right foot. I still managed to get popped going 105 in the desert within 4 months of buying the thing.
Since I’ve started logging ridiculous mileage as a realtor, the traffic stops have gone up. I’ve got a million things on my mind and I’m probably either on the phone or trying to figure out who I need to call next. So looking down at the speedo started slipping my mind. My little problem with the BART police made me the easy mark because my tags were expired. Four bills lighter and at least that problem is solved. I got pulled over on Highway 4 in September. That guy got me going around 80 but he didn’t tag me for that, he tagged me for not changing the address on my registration. I don’t count that ticket in my 51 lifetime moving violations. He’s the only guy who has ever pulled me over and not written me, not matter how I behaved. Lots of people get very nervous when pulled over by the cops and lie and make mistakes. I’ve been pulled over so much that it’s really like meeting up with an old friend. An old friend who always costs me money and makes me spend half of one of my days sitting in court waiting to see a judge. That’s what I had to do yesterday morning.
Needless to say, I’ve been to a lot of traffic court. On the desert ticket I actually had to hire an attorney to get me out of that one. We tried a great stunt where he set the trial on the day before a three day weekend hoping that the cop wouldn’t appear, but that’s not how my luck goes in traffic court. They stipped me at 99 and I paid the fine. 105 is a go to jail offense, even at 8:30 on a Saturday morning when you’re the only one out there. Yesterday I was dealing with the repercussions of driving 80mph on Vasco Road. It’s a double fine zone and he didn’t write me for that, thank goodness. Old friends are like that. It was the most efficient, hilarious traffic court I’d ever been to. The judge lined us up six at a time and ran right through it. He only stopped at the people with the really ridiculous offenses. He took one lady’s license away. I think my favorite yesterday was “And why did you fail to appear?” I didn’t have a car. You know there’s lots of other ways to get places. Followed by a lot of dead air.
I know I have to be careful. These guys have your whole record there. Mine is probably put together with one of those monster clamps. It’s best to not bullshit. How do you plead? No contest. Do you need some time? Yes. 90 days? Thank you. Traffic school? Yes. Have a nice day. Exactly one hour for him to go through the probably 40 people in front of me. A couple of hilarious bullshit stories that he swatted down like gnats and now the last one of my judicial driving issues is ready to be put to rest.
Later, I applied the weed whacker to the back yard because, well, I didn’t want to lose my dog out there, and I need to till the Depression garden.