My Big Day In Court Was A Reality Check

Image by author

Back in April, I was pulled over by police checking for expired auto registrations. Mine was quite expired, as the sticker on my windshield had long faded into oblivion in my mind.

The officer who interacted with me was so friendly that I drove away in an upbeat mood with a $100 traffic ticket next to me.

I had options. Show up to my court date and likely get the ticket dismissed. Or pay the fine and be done with it.

A reasonable person would pay the fine.

However, I’d just finished watching Jury Duty and was curious about the inside of a courtroom. I’d never been in one. I said to my husband, “If I go to court, I could write about it.” He groaned — meaning, you’re nuts.

I had until a certain date to decide. I vacillated. Would the time it took to go to court and wait through the morass of other cases be worth it? Was I nuts?

There was only one way to find out.

I laid out my outfit the night before because in my mind I was going to see a big, exciting show, a one-of-kind event. I packed like I normally pack — excessively. I had a notepad, pens, tissues, lip balm, snacks, and reading material.

But deep inside, I felt unethical.

Rather than pay the fine, I’d be asking the court to spend valuable time processing my piddly infraction just so I could be a voyeur of the scene. Was I taking advantage?

Technically, no. In the spirit of things, it felt like it.

When I entered the building, I plunked my purse full of all of life’s necessities on the counter to be searched. Folks were friendly. The vibe was chipper.

If I thought I was about to see a big, exciting show, the courtroom was certainly a nice theater. Rows of seats tipped on an incline so the back of the room had a good view of the proceedings. I chose a seat in the middle and waited while the place filled up.

We all stood while the judge got situated, then sat back down. I took out my notepad and got poised with pen at the ready. I was half reporter, half traffic violator.

Many of the defendants there couldn’t speak English — thus an on-hand interpreter. The judge was generous with his simplified communication, but some folks standing before him probably struggled to simply show up that day.

This was the first reality pluck at my heartstrings.

In the back row, a white-haired, scruffy man in mangled clothing sat with his head tipped back over his seat. There was a grungy bath towel draped over his face that his hands clamped in place. When it was his turn, he walked to the front of the room with no heart in the game. It was as if each minute of his life was a destitute exhale.

Second pluck.

One underlying theme of this courtroom show was how consequential the fairness of a judge can be. Several times the judge reduced the defendant’s speeding infraction by 2 mph to bring the violation under the line that differentiates speeding from reckless driving. Reckless driving is a criminal class 1 misdemeanor that carries possible jail time. Speeding is an infraction that carries fines.

If the defendant had an otherwise good driving record and perhaps had taken a driver safety class, the judge would reduce the speed and allow the defendant to walk away with a fine.

It seemed to me the judge knew his decision might be a tipping point in the defendant’s life. For some folks walking a highwire of uncertainty, any small push could bring an avalanche.

One young fellow appeared unfazed by what the interpreter told him. He’d driven 63 mph in a 35 mph zone: reckless. He had an active driving record but no driver’s license. He was tall and all of 120 pounds. His beanpole jeans barely hung on.

The judge upheld a prior judge’s decision not to send this kid to jail, but he handed down $1000 in fines because something has to stick. The judge repeated several times, “You can’t drive when you leave here, do you understand?” The interpreter got a faint ‘yes’ out of him. The young man plodded out, and you knew this might not be the last time this kid is in court.

Third pluck.

These kinds of stories piled up. I looked down at my nice shoes, pretty skirt, and life necessities and thought, “Remember this the next time you think there are holes in your life.”

My big show featured petty larceny, too.

One fellow was escorted in by two police officers. He shuffled to the podium, hampered by ankle and wrist cuffs. His brain seemed half on. He’d stolen from a liquor store more than once and was ordered not to step foot in the store again. He got a month in the slammer.

A second inmate shuffled in. This shackled fellow wore anger and disdain on his face the way a king wears a crown — There is no question what I am.

He had numerous petty larceny charges against him — same grocery store, different days.

My eyes were glued to the man’s face and his defiant stance. I listened to a bit of his history, which seemed like a life dropped from a plane. I broke down in silent tears.

For some people, their one chance at life is lost. Difficulty can start so early and solidify as time goes on. By that time, much of their chance has trickled away. You can see them on the news. It’s different to have them right in front of you.

After two and a half hours, my name was called.

I walked toward the podium. The friendly officer who’d given me the ticket was at the front and asked to see proof of registration. I handed it over and he nodded to the judge. “She’s good, Your Honor.”

“Case dismissed,” the judge said, “You may go.”

I never got to the podium. It took half a minute to hear my case.

“Your Honor, may I say something?” I asked. The judge nodded and I turned to the officer standing nearby.

“Officer, I wanted to email you back in April but never did. I wanted to tell you what a kind and friendly person you are. That was the nicest traffic ticket I ever got.”

He smiled and then the judge spoke up.

“Do you have anything to say about my friendliness?”

The room burst out laughing — cops, lawyers, the interpreter, and me. I tried to say, “Absolutely!” but the room was well in a state of hilarity. I thanked them and waved goodbye.

My big show was over.

I walked to my car with our complex society rolling around in my mind. I believe those 2.5 hours changed me. I look at life differently. I ponder different questions.

I also have a Google Calendar reminder for my car registration ready to roll.

No more court for me.