Ok...long story, and dont blame me - its all because Scott Schreiber was friends with me for six months before figuring out that I am female. And that reminded me of something that happened eons ago. Get comfy, Im long winded. Back in the very early 80s, I went on tour with a band (another long story) which was frought with all sorts of mayhem and adventures, and by that I mean the uncomfortable/dangerous times someone else is having far away kind, as well as some fun. As you do, we all because good friends - the band, the roadies, the sound guys, etc. Some months after coming home, I got a new couch and chairs, and gave the old ones to one of the roadies and his wife. Shortly after that, I got a new car, and since my old one was not going to get much in trade, I sold it to them for a tiny amount. Several (3-5?) years later, I come home on a Friday night, and check my mail. In it I find a notice that a bench warrant has been issued for my arrest. NO clue what for - Ive never even gotten a speeding ticket (and yes, I have more than deserved those). And of course, it being Friday night, there is no one I can call - no way to find out what the deal is, so I spend the entire weekend terrified to go out of the house. I make my way to work Monday morning, having obsessively checked all lights, signals, tags, etc., and go exactly the speed limit all the way there, knowing a traffic stop means I would go directly to an LA jail - no ones idea of a fun time. Call the number on the form, which turns out to be Van Nuys Courthouse. Am told I must appear in person. Drive to the courthouse, stand in line for 90 minutes only to be turned away because they had reached their max for the day. Must come back. Spend another scared drive home, freaked out and pissed, and show up at the crack of dumb the next day. Another two hour line later, Im at the window. The lady checking things takes my stuff, and I ask, Can you tell me what this is about? She looks and says Failure to Appear. I say What does that mean?, she says You got a ticket ten months ago, and signed it, which states you promise to appear in court when notified. You didnt I explain that I have never gotten a ticket. She asked if I owned a whatever year it was Datsun sedan, and I tell her I sold it four years earlier. She frowns, hands me the xerox of the original ticket, and I tell her that is not my signature, AND that it is signed incorrectly (last name first). She looks at the drivers license I handed her, agrees, and looking at the ticket, says, Youre also not a 5 6 blond male.. Now shes amused, and steam is coming out of my ears because that description fits the roadie I sold the car to - who shortly thereafter became a Moonie and totally holier than thou, while forgetting the pesky little detail of re-registering the car in his name. The killer turns out to be that I STILL have to appear in front of the judge - which turns out to have to be on the next day. Courts are very popular in LA, I guess. I creep back to work, then home, then back the following morning for my 11-ish slot. Watching the forty or so people ahead of me is sobering, and clearly everyone involved has heard every possible story, heard every conceivable excuse for whatever the folks were accused of doing, and could not be less interested in any of it. The judge literally never looked up from his paperwork, not once. I get up to the giant scary bailiff, who takes my papers and is gobsmacked when I inform him I wish to plead not guilty. He says - you cant plead that, you signed the ticket I again explain the situation, he nods and says this should be interesting. They call my name, ask the purely formulaic how do you plead, ready for a round of more whining and pleading, and everything stops when I say Not Guilty. Judge frowns, still not looking up, and in an exasperated voice says You cannot plead not guilty to failure to appear. You signed the ticket, you did not appear. And I say I understand, sir, but in fact I did NOT sign the ticket. The bailiff has my drivers license, and if you look at the signature, youll see it doesnt match the one on the ticket, and in fact has my name backwards. Also, if you look at the physical description on the ticket, you will also see that I am not a 5 6 blond male, either. The bailiff, now completely entertained for clearly the first time i eons, says Hmmph....are you sure about that? and I say Lets just say that its going to come as a terrible shock to my fiancee if it turns out Im wrong, and the entire courtroom erupts in laughter. Judge looks up, both startled and a little pissed, slams down his gavel and says not guilty, charges are dismissed and wiped, blah blah, NEXT. I then ask what I can do to keep it from happening again - after all, I did my end of the paperwork with the DMV, but here I am, arent they going to do something about the fact that someone else falsified information, didnt register the car, etc., etc. (and dont even ask me why the cop who pulled them over didnt notice that the plates were expired/he wasnt me, etc)? What if it happens again? He basically said nothing, next case and that was that. I did report it to the DMV, who also were clearly not going to expend any effort in finding the idiots. Last time I heard, they moved to some ashramic haunt in Colorado, where I may, in fact, again be a wanted criminal.
Posted on: Wed, 14 May 2014 22:42:03 +0000
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