Gentlemen,

This is a true story that happened on July 16, 2007

Today I went to court to fight a speeding ticket and things didn’t quite turn out the way I had anticipated. Usually I bring a lawyer with me at considerable cost and all he says to me is, “Don’t say a word; I’ll do all the talking.” This time I figured I could save a couple of hundred dollars by cutting out the lawyer and representing myself. Since I had to travel several hundred miles, I got up early and planned my legal strategy on the way to the courthouse. My plan was simple. All I had to do was watch how the Judge handled the first several cases, discover his weakness, and spring my well rehearsed defense.

My legal defense centered on the fact that I had new tires installed on the car the day before getting the ticket and they were of a slightly different size. My tire guy said, “These new tires have a higher profile than what was on the vehicle so celebrate.” That didn’t make any sense to me at the time until I called him after getting the ticket and he gave me a more detailed explanation. Apparently what he actually said was, “These new tires have a higher profile than what was on the vehicle so RECALIBRATE.” He was referring to the fact that with a higher profile tire the overall diameter is increased which throws off your speedometer. In other words, he told me to recalibrate my speedometer, not celebrate. I think I need a hearing aid!

Fortunately, I had documentation of the different tire sizes that I would use it to win my case. As I was driving there I was rehearsing my opening statement just like those guys do on CourtTV. Since I arrived a hour before the courthouse opened, I lit up a cigar, sat down on a bench and started to read a book. Within minutes there’s a cop standing in front of me, giving me a shitty look, and then he asks, “Do you know how to read?” I’m not in any mood for his shit because I’ve just driven five hours, so I reply not so pleasantly, “Yeah, this thing I have in my hand it’s called a book, you read it.”

Just like he’s been trained to do, he sized up the situation and realized he was dealing with someone of superior intellect so he immediately changed his tactics. “What are you doing down here?” he politely asked. As I was turning the page to my book I said, “I have to fight a speeding ticket.” “Do you want me to find out what courtroom your case will be tried in? I might know the judge and I’ll see what I can do for you.” I couldn’t believe my good fortune; clearly, this was a sign that things were going to go my way today, or so I thought.

Several minutes later he returned, told me that I was assigned to courtroom “Two E,” and handed back my ticket. Then he handed me another piece of paper that threw me into complete confusion. “What’s this?” I asked. With a huge smile on his face he said, “It’s a ticket for smoking in a restricted zone. Turn around and look up.” As I started to turn, I had this sinking feeling in my gut. It only got worse as I raised my eyes upward and saw a sign that said “No Smoking on Court Premises under penalty of fine.” “But how could you fill out the ticket; I didn’t give you any identification?” I said hoping against hope that this was just a nightmare that I would awaken from any minute. With that fucking grin still on his face, he said, “I took the information off your speeding ticket!”

Getting into the Courthouse is more difficult than going through security at the airport. Shit, I even had to turn over my cell phone because it had a camera in it. Anyway, I finally find the courtroom, take a seat and look around at all the loser sitting there. I’m dressed appropriately, which is more than I can say for most of the others, so I figure I have a 90% chance of winning my case. That is if winning is based on wardrobe. Suddenly the Judge walks in, everyone stands (including me) and they swear in the police officers. As I sit back to watch the first several cases, I hear something that sounds exactly like my name being called out by the bailiff. Oh shit, this can’t be happening. That’s when I realized that the officer who gave me that $200 ticket outside probably fucked with me by having me placed first on the docket, too.

As I approached the podium and raised my right hand to be sworn in, the damn Judge caught me off guard by asking, “How do you plead?” I wasn’t even sworn in yet and he asks me this question right out of the blue. Needless to say my rhythm was all fucked up and I blurted out, “Guilty, but with a good excuse.” He gave me one of those looks that Sweetmesquite used to give me and said, “Tell me your excuse.” As I started my defense and mentioned tire profiles, he cut to the chase by asking, “Does your car have 17” wheels?” “Yep,” was my concise reply. He continued, “Did it have 17” tires on before?” “Yep” “Did they put 17” tires back on the wheels?” Once again I got that sinking feeling as I said, “Yep.” The next thing I knew he was smacking his gavel against his desk and said, “Guilty.” Before I knew what was happening, the lady bailiff grabbed me by the arm and told me that the next case was standing behind me waiting to get to the podium.

Now, you may wonder why I’m posting this on Club Hombre. No, it’s not to entertain you at all. I sincerely hope that someone on this board will read this and realize that Jaguar was in his Courtroom today, and maybe he will reconsider his verdict. But you guys know that I’m not that lucky.

As if things weren't bad enough, half an hour later on my way home, I realized that I never picked up my camera phone.

Jag

Jag
One thing, your life is never boring. How much was the fine anyway?

Just so you don't feel bad. I got a fine last week because my registration disk had expired (in SA we have to display them on our front window). I had paid my renewal but the only problem is that the department that issues registration disk has been on strike for a month. So, if you think about it, I got a fine from one government department because another government department was on strike!

Off course I could go to court but as I bill my time at about R1000.00 per hour and I would have to spend the whole day at court to contest a R200.00 fine…

Now when are you going to post a new trip report, enquiring minds want to know.

Dear Isawal,

The speeding fine was only $35, but court costs brought the total to $97. While there I decided to also pay the smoking fine rather than risk another costly fiasco. All in all, with gas, tolls and fines, I spent about $400.

With regard to your question about my next report, I'm taking the summer off from my busy schedule. Don't know when I'll get back to writing for this site, if ever.

Jag

Jag, I think it was the intial response/retort to the proverbial question of " can you read" that triggered the slide down the slippery slope! You should have just claimed you were a midget, "walked " into the courtroom (on your knees utilizing the midget personna), and proclaimed the sign was too damn high for anyone of you stature to see, let alone read! It would have been a slam-dunk. Had you been able to secure the services of Danny Divito as a character witness it would most certainly been advantage. Better luck next time, OH YEA, with your luck there will be a next time!

CFK,

On my way home, after retrieving my fucking camera cell phone from the courthouse Gestapo, my phone rang and it was a good friend calling. The conversation didn't go very well because this friend happens to be a lawyer, too.

Anyway, he asked how things went in court and when I said I was the first one called, he had some great advice: "Don't ever go first because the Judge always is tough on the first case to let everyone know who's boss."

I went fucking ballistic and screamed, "Great fucking advice now; where were you two hours ago when I really needed help? Okay, Perry Mason, answer me this question: How the fuck do I pretend I'm not in Court when they call out my name?" Like any good lawyer who's not getting paid, he just laughed thinking I was making a joke, but he didn't realize I really needed some fucking answers. Then he suggested I bring a lawyer next time, and I started to scream at him again. While I was shouting, I happened to casually mentioned that I just went through another fucking "speed trap." Guess what he did. Yup, that's right, he quickly hung up on me.

Jag

It seems that you once told me that you almost went to law school. I can imagine you representing a high-profile defendent in a murder case using the old tried and true defense "The cat ate his homework."

If you really want to get even, go back to the courthouse this winter. Sneak into the judge's chamber, shut off all heat and open a window in his private restroom. Flush the toilet several times and get some good cold water from outside the building in the commode. Pour 7 packages of strawberry jello into the commode tank and 4 more in the commode bowl. Disable the lights in the restroom slip away.

Call him up a couple of days later to enjoy the joke with him. Doubtlessly, he will be howling with laughter about the little prank. Now after you are such good buddies, meet him for lunch. Traffic tickets should not be such a big problem for you after that.

Coming next: How to get back at that smart-aleck cop.

Bliss, you have got to get off the "pot"
Heavy therapy would be my recommendation!

Jag, Since you weren't paying the $200 hr fee the advice was limited I'm sure. My son is an attorney, and I swear you can ask him a question and they all go into some fuckin mode that makes no sense. I once had to remind him this is your Father, just answer the damn question. Must be a class in queston answering that they take and then abide by a top secret code of something so as not to give an actual direct answer, at least without the standard prefaced conditional statement releasing them from any and all responsibility resulting from the answer!

Like Haggar says: "Can't drive 65"

Jag,

That day in court was still cheaper than a day with MBL, and the sex was probably better too.

>>That day in court was still cheaper than a day with MBL, and the sex was probably better too.<<

Cat: As to the latter point, I think you may have confused the court with a prison.

(Message edited by laguy on July 17, 2007)

Laguy, if that's the case we need to all chip in and send Jag a 50gallon drum of Vasoline, he's gonna need it.

Then again, with all that Vasoline his hands might get real slippery. To make sure his soap therefore isn't always falling on the ground in the prison shower thereby only compounding his need for even more Vasoline, we should all chip in and buy him a collection of soap on the rope.

Damn, this stuff gets awfully complicated.

Blissman,

Yes, your memory is perhaps the only thing about you that’s still intact; I had planned to go to Law School down south, but something more important came up. I think they called it the National Draft Lottery! Anyway, for some strange reason our government couldn’t do without me, but after an appropriate period of time they realized what an enormous mistake they had made, and decided to set me free.

I’m sure I would have made a great lawyer. For a moment, just imagine the consequences if I was a trial lawyer representing high profile defendants—today OJ, Michael Jackson, and Robert Blake would all be living together in the same place somewhere in California. After mulling that scenario over for a few minutes, you might come to the conclusion that I’m not quite as stupid as I appear. But then again, I could be wrong.

CFK,

Your point about your son highlights a problem I’ve had with every lawyer I have hired. Usually, I meet these guys socially and the only thing they want to talk about is their most recent case, and the applicable Constitutional or Case Law. BORING!!! Whenever I try to discuss a major legal problem like a speeding ticket, they go right back to telling everyone about the stupid fucking case they have pending before the Supreme Court. Of course, I can understand that because the billing clock’s not ticking, and since they can’t bill anyone for their time, why not talk about someone who has already paid them.

Unfortunately, when I hire them things change dramatically. As soon as I walk into their office the fucking billing clock goes into hyper-drive and all they want to discuss is the last fucking cocktail or dinner party we were at together rather than the salient points of my case. For example, I get asked important questions such as, “Did you like the ’92 Bordeaux they served with the fillet mignon?” or “Do you think they had the party to make everyone think they weren’t getting divorced?” “Divorced? I didn’t even know they were having marital problems,” I would reply. At that point, each one of them would tell me that they’ll get me off, providing I keep my mouth shut in court.

Cat,

Despite the fact that MBL and I have broken up, we still keep in touch. Whenever she calls asking for money, I simple say “No.” We even got together recently. Once a couple of months ago, Copperfieldkid, Diversity, Lucy and I went into Help and ran into Bubble Lips. It was a little uncomfortable to say the least, but that’s a story for another time.

BTW, did you ever get in touch with Hep “B” after I sent you her photo and phone number?

Jag

She's on my to-do list. I may be up in Philly in a weekend or two, whenever the Nats play the Phillies on a weekend.

Cat,

Now I'm fucking confused!! When you say "Nats play the Phillies on a weekend," are you referring to the Washington Nationals or Natalia (Nats for short), Hep "B's" real name? Knowing her as well as I do, I suspect you mean the latter. Shit, she could satisfy the whole Eagles' roster over a weekend with time left over.

Jag

Really sealing the deal there, buddy!

Cat,

Last night I went over to the club she dances. When I didn't see her, I made the mistake of inquiring where she was that night. I think they thought I was from INS because they said rather defensively that she hasn't been around in weeks. Since you have her phone number, I suggest you call first.

BTW, since you'll be in Philly, I seem to remember that you owe me a cheesesteak dinner. I suggest we go to the Palm, if that's alright with you?

Jag

Jag.
Hindsight being twenty-twenty, We should have went to Wizzards, had a few beers and mail the thing in. More fun, less expensive.

LL,

I'm going back there tonight to try and get more info. I'll wear shorts and a pink polo shirt, not a suit and tie like last night.

Jag

Is it true that good lawyers know the law, but the best lawyers are the ones that know the judge.

Redbus,

I needed that advice on Monday, not Friday.

Jag

I bewlieve that American lawyers and Colombia paisas have something in common. When you ask them a simple question they both go into a 10 minute tirade that you don't understand.

(Message edited by scooby_1781 on July 21, 2007)