I purposely broke the law. That's how far down my life had gone. Things that had once been important to me no longer mattered. With little shame and much defiance, I armed myself and hobbled out the door, making a conscious, premeditated decision to do wrong.
It was a big move for a person whose friends had mocked her for refusing to walk through a door with Employees Only posted on it.
"Anything goes, when everything's gone." Even before I lived it, the words of this song had tugged at my heart every time I heard them. Now that my understanding had gone from sympathetic to personal point of view, the chorus embraced me as validation for my deed.
"When you lose all hope, there ain't no right or wrong." Melodramatic? Maybe. Indefensible? Probably, but the sentiment expressed the defeat I felt at the time.
I reached my destination without incident, waited for my daughter to join me in the car and thank me for picking her up, and retraced my three-mile, back-street route. As I drove, she delivered every detail of the workshop. The instructor was from Spain and had brought a guitarist with him. The dancer's technique was worth every dollar the workshop cost and she couldn't wait to get home and practice what she had learned.
She raved on as I drove past the park, but stopped when flashing blue lights caught up with us on the other side of the overpass. My heart pounded as the police car pulled in behind mine instead of speeding around me.
I reached for my purse, and the protection I had remembered to bring. There were no red lights or stop signs. I had not exceeded the speed limit, or hit anyone or anything, so this had to be about my willful crime.
"Your license plate has expired," the officer announced.
"I know. Thirty-six days ago." My shaking hand closed around the defense in my purse, knowing he wouldn't stop with the expired tag. I pulled it out and left it in my lap while I showed him my driver's license and registration, and waited for the dreaded words.
"I need to see proof of insurance," he said, keeping my documents.
"That's the reason for my expired tag." I presented the envelope from my lap. "I recently renewed my policy and the insurance company failed to send my updated proof of insurance cards. I have a letter from my agent."
He refused the envelope I extended, so I removed the letter and opened it. Without looking, he informed me he could not accept my letter.
Remembering the time a police officer had removed my intoxicated husband from his car and delivered him home instead of taking him to jail, I felt sure, since I had endangered no one, this man would apply the same discretion with me. Unsound optimism drove my plea.
"I had to pick up my daughter, and the insurance company assures me the updated cards are in the mail. Please don't do this." I stopped short of telling him how many phone calls it had taken to resolve this situation, what a toll every simple problem took on my energy level, or how weary I was from being out of bed the last two hours.
He scribbled on a form. "It's only a citation. No problem. Get your paperwork in order, take it to the courthouse and show it to the clerks at the windows, and it'll be over."
No problem? Even for a healthy person, a trip to the courthouse was a problem. Time out of any day, driving downtown, finding a parking place, standing in line, dealing with overworked clerks, were all problems. For me, that entailed at least a week's worth of energy and endangered my life. I didn't have the oomph to explain, even if I had thought it would matter to this man. I put the citation and letter in my purse and hoped I had the resilience to make it home.
I switched insurance companies the next day and called the old one to tell them what had happened because of their mistake and cancel. This time, they immediately sent the card with a request to reconsider my decision. I didn't.
Insurance card in hand, I returned to the County Clerk's office to secure my updated license plate. After telling me about the late fee, this clerk said the one who had previously refused my letter should have called the insurance company for verification and saved me the fee and the citation.
I drove downtown, gave up hope of finding a meter space after three trips around the block, wound my way to the roof of a parking garage, waited for a smelly elevator, walked two blocks to the building, waited in line to be scanned for weapons, found 'the windows', and waited in a second line. My head swam as my blood pressure dropped and my temperature rose. When my turn came, I ditched my instinctive skirting of public surfaces and grabbed the counter for support before presenting my paperwork.
Relieved to have this experience behind me, I left the building and leaned against an outside wall to gather strength for my return to the car. I couldn't have identified the clerk inside if my life depended on it, but I did remember her words. "That's all we need. Everything's taken care of."
A short time later, I received a court notice for failing to resolve the citation. I called the clerk at 'the window'. After several transfers and a long wait, someone assured me the notice was a mistake; their records documented my 'taken care of' status.
I lost faith in 'the windows' crew when the second court notice arrived. This time, I called the court clerk, explained that I was on an anti-rejection drugs, had no immune system or energy, and that sitting in a crowded courtroom during flu season could have serious consequences for me. I requested permission to wait outside the courtroom in a safe place, or to go first. She told me the court does not make special allowances for disabilities.
On my second court date, my temperature was 104, every bone, muscle, and nerve in my body reminded me it wasn't happy with our connection, and I would have welcomed the flu if it promised to kill me and end the pain. Unfortunately, I did not have the strength to dress and leave the house to contract a new germ. I called the court clerk, who informed me I could not call in sick to court.
I tried 'the window' clerk again. She still insisted everything 'was taken care of' and the court notice was an error. She said not to worry, stay in bed, and she hoped I would feel better soon.
Four years later, I went to renew my driver's license and discovered that my failure to appear in court had resulted in a suspension of my license and a bench warrant. In no condition to deal with it then, I parked my car for months. My daughters drove me the only places I went - to the grocery, and the fourteen doctors offices and hospitals my most recent diagnoses and a surgery made necessary.
When ready to drive again, I returned to 'the windows' to see what I needed to do to get my driver's license back. The clerk looked me up in her computer, put me back on the docket, and handed me directions to a location across town. I was to go there, pay forty dollars, and have my license reinstated, before my court date.
Finally, something had gone my way. Actually, the before my court date information led me to believe more than one thing had gone my way. Why would I be eligible for reinstatement if they didn't know I brought in proof of insurance and updated tags? Before I left, the clerk told me I needed to take a money order because the office she was sending me to did not accept credit cards or cash.
My daughter drove me to the bank for the money order. I didn't have forty dollars cash, so I wrote a check to the bank – my bank, my branch. The teller asked for identification and I handed her my driver's license.
"I can't accept an expired ID," she told me. Fine. I pulled out my birth certificate, my Medicare card, and my social security card. None of them had a picture, so she would not accept them. I argued that the picture on my driver's license proved my identity, and the others were all valid. She wasn't going for any of it.
My daughter drove me to an ATM for cash, we went down the street to purchase a money order, and then to the off-site building listed on the paper 'the window' clerk had given me. A sign on the door said, Now Accepting Debit and Credit Cards. If only 'the window' clerk had known, I would not have wasted the last two stops.
I signed in, waited my turn, and found out they only renew licenses within one year of suspension, but I was eligible to get my license, I just had to start over with a learner's permit. I would have to test for the permit at another location. If only 'the window' clerk had known this, we wouldn't have wasted the last three stops and I wouldn't be holding an unnecessary money order.
"We're already out," my daughter said. "Let's go ahead and drive over there." I let her convince me I could pass the written test in my frazzled state.
She drove me to the next location. I waited in line. The clerk took my information, confiscated my expired driver's license that had been useful as identification everywhere except the bank, handed me a form, and instructed me to go around the corner to the testing room.
I smiled when I saw the giant stop sign outside the open door. I figured it was the first part of the test, and stopped. The clerk inside the room looked up and huffed. "You can come inside," she said. Her tone indicated I might be the stupidest person ever to come through the door.
I smiled again and handed her my paperwork. Without returning my smile, she pointed to a machine with goggles on the front. "Step up there for your vision test," she ordered.
My forehead pressed the lever on top and illuminated a screen. Through the goggles, I read the top line as instructed.
"Read the third column," she said.
There were no letters in my third column. All I saw was a blank rectangle. I told her this.
"You're blind," she said. "You fail and you should see a doctor."
I laughed. No one would tell another she was blind, in a flippant tone, unless kidding. Almost no one, this one did not laugh with me.
"There must be something wrong with this machine," I said. "There are no letters in the third column."
"Yes there are. You need to see a doctor."
I stepped away from the machine. "I see my ophthalmologist more often than most people see their spouse. I promise you I am not blind."
The next clerk correctly detected my loss of patience and invited me to try her machine. I stepped over, activated the lever on her machine with my forehead, and read off the letters in the first two columns. Her third column was also empty. I knew I wasn't blind, but panicked all the same. Obviously, something was wrong with my vision.
This woman smiled and turned to retrieve forms from a folder on the desk behind her. "You must have mono-vision," she guessed. I confirmed. "Our machines can't test mono-vision, so you will have to have your doctor fill out these forms." If the first girl had known this, she might not have been so rude.
I returned to the waiting room, told my daughter the outcome, and decided I might not want my driver's license after all. "You aren't blind, Mother. We probably have time to go to the doctor's office and get back here before they close. Let's go."
In the car, I looked at the forms and decided it would be inconsiderate to the doctor and the patients who had scheduled this time if I walked in and asked him to complete two pages of questions on my forms. I had my daughter take me home, where I faxed the forms to the office and asked the doctor to return them at his convenience.
Obviously, I did not get my driver's license before my court date. My other daughter drove me to court. As usual, the docket was long and the attorney cases went first. An hour is about how long I can sit on a hard surface, or speak without a drink. Two hours into the session, I considered taking the pain pills in my purse, but knew I'd choke if I tried to swallow them, and didn't want to risk compromising mental clarity. I changed positions often, unable to find one that relieved the pain in my hip although the movement secured my ability to walk when I did finally get to stand again.
"I'm going to ask the sheriff if they can call you soon," my daughter whispered. I reminded her that the court does not make special allowances for disabilities. The sheriff noticed my distress, or our whispering, and came to see if I was okay. I explained my situation and asked if he could permit me to leave the courtroom to walk and get a drink of water, and explain my absence if they called my name while I was out. He granted permission.
When I returned, the sheriff said he had pulled my case, explained the situation, and asked the judge to call me soon. I thanked him. An hour later, he shook his head when I pulled out a tissue to dry my eyes.
My hip was out of socket when I walked to the front of the room, but I made it there without limping or falling. I leaned on the podium for support. No one read my charges so I didn't know they had dropped my real crime - driving with an expired license plate. I might have suggested that was proof I had satisfied someone at the windows' at some point.
The judge asked if I had documentation to prove I had insurance on that date five years earlier. I said I had given my documentation to the clerk at 'the windows', and could not reproduce it because I didn't remember the name of the insurance company. She gave me another court date and said to return with the documentation. Assuming she either hadn't heard or didn't understand, I explained that I could not produce the document on any court date, since I had left my proof at 'the windows' and could not remember the name of the insurance company to ask for a duplicate.
She sneered, chuckled, rolled her eyes at the snickering bitch beside her, and finally asked, "Do you expect me to believe you don't remember who you had insurance with?"
I said yes, I did ask her to believe that because it was the truth. I had cancelled the policy five years before and had no reason to maintain that information since I had delivered it to the court and been assured my citation was 'taken care of'. She told me to either bring the documentation on the next court date or go to jail. Again, she said she could not believe anyone would forget who they had insurance with five years before.
My daughter came forward and explained that she had been with me the night the officer pulled me over. "I'm a witness. My mother had the insurance information in her purse that night, but the police officer wouldn't look at it." The judge told her to sit down.
I wanted to explain that I live on disability income, drive junker cars, and go with whichever insurance company offers me the lowest rate, but the judge refused to listen to another word from me.
"Who do you have insurance with now," she asked.
"I don't have insurance now," I answered. "I don't have a driver's license and my car has been parked for months."
"For months?" She feigned horror. "But you haven't had a license for years."
"No one told me I didn't have a license," I explained. "I only found out when I tried to renew my driver's license."
"I simply don't believe you," she said. "And I've done everything I can to help you."
"No, you haven't," I countered, because she had not allowed me to present my entire defense, or called the clerk from 'the window' to testify that the court notice was a mistake.
She slammed her hand on the desk and ordered me to sit in a chair in the front of the courtroom, until I was ready to apologize or she decided to send me to jail, whichever came first.
I went to my time-out chair, more humiliated and angrier than I had ever been in my life. Someone at the insurance company had made a mistake. Someone in the County Clerk's office had been too lazy to call my insurance company and renew my registration. While twenty thousand unserved warrants sat in a pile somewhere in this city, a police officer pulled me over for driving with a license plate that was thirty-six days expired and couldn't give me the time it took to read the two-paragraph letter I presented in my defense. My crime was paying my taxes late, and the system's built-in late fee would compensate.
Somewhere between the clerks at 'the window' and the person who sends out court notices, someone missed the fact that I had 'taken care of' my citations. Later, someone(s) behind 'the windows' lost my paperwork, and someone in the system forgot to inform the clerks at 'the windows' about the policies in that the office across town. Now, I was stuck with a judge who rolled her eyes, called me a liar, and denied me the opportunity to present my case.
On a scale of one to ten, my physical pain was at least a ten. Emotionally, I probably registered somewhere around fifteen. Something about being treated like a two-year-old made me behave the same. I sobbed. I wiped my nose on my sleeve because my purse was unattended in the back of the courtroom and the judge wouldn't allow anyone to come near me. The judge asked the giggling fat bitch beside her what my problem was, and together they laughed at me. The sheriff looked at me like his heart might break.
One brave man defied the judge's warning glare and brought my purse to me so I could blow my nose. Others ventured forward. An attorney pled with me to apologize, because she would put me in jail for contempt. My daughter, who had left the courtroom to call her sister and plan for my bail, came back and asked if there was something she should do. I asked her to contact the media if I went to jail.
I ended up apologizing, and I'm sorry I did because it was not sincere. The courthouse doesn't have my records from five years ago. Our system purges DUIs at five years, even if fatality cases, but not my citation. The County Clerk's office keeps records four years.
That judge's last words to me were, "I advise you to get a good attorney."
I told her I was on disability and could not afford an attorney. She refused to order a public defender for me.
It is now five years and four months since I made that decision to break the law. My next court date is at the end of June.
The lovely judge in this case has been the lowest rated judge in this county for several years.
She is on the ballot for re-election in November.
Considering the circus of errors in this situation, and the fact that none of the people involved knew how sick I was or how much their actions affected me, I wrestled with my willingness to dump my resentment on this judge. In the end, I believe this is where it belongs. The buck stops with her, and she decided to call me a liar when there were people in the building who could have proven I brought my documentation to 'the windows' in 2001. She also refused to allow me to defend myself, or use a public defender, although I qualify for the service.
My campaign has just begun.
Update: This judge was not re-elected in November.
It was a big move for a person whose friends had mocked her for refusing to walk through a door with Employees Only posted on it.
"Anything goes, when everything's gone." Even before I lived it, the words of this song had tugged at my heart every time I heard them. Now that my understanding had gone from sympathetic to personal point of view, the chorus embraced me as validation for my deed.
"When you lose all hope, there ain't no right or wrong." Melodramatic? Maybe. Indefensible? Probably, but the sentiment expressed the defeat I felt at the time.
I reached my destination without incident, waited for my daughter to join me in the car and thank me for picking her up, and retraced my three-mile, back-street route. As I drove, she delivered every detail of the workshop. The instructor was from Spain and had brought a guitarist with him. The dancer's technique was worth every dollar the workshop cost and she couldn't wait to get home and practice what she had learned.
She raved on as I drove past the park, but stopped when flashing blue lights caught up with us on the other side of the overpass. My heart pounded as the police car pulled in behind mine instead of speeding around me.
I reached for my purse, and the protection I had remembered to bring. There were no red lights or stop signs. I had not exceeded the speed limit, or hit anyone or anything, so this had to be about my willful crime.
"Your license plate has expired," the officer announced.
"I know. Thirty-six days ago." My shaking hand closed around the defense in my purse, knowing he wouldn't stop with the expired tag. I pulled it out and left it in my lap while I showed him my driver's license and registration, and waited for the dreaded words.
"I need to see proof of insurance," he said, keeping my documents.
"That's the reason for my expired tag." I presented the envelope from my lap. "I recently renewed my policy and the insurance company failed to send my updated proof of insurance cards. I have a letter from my agent."
He refused the envelope I extended, so I removed the letter and opened it. Without looking, he informed me he could not accept my letter.
Remembering the time a police officer had removed my intoxicated husband from his car and delivered him home instead of taking him to jail, I felt sure, since I had endangered no one, this man would apply the same discretion with me. Unsound optimism drove my plea.
"I had to pick up my daughter, and the insurance company assures me the updated cards are in the mail. Please don't do this." I stopped short of telling him how many phone calls it had taken to resolve this situation, what a toll every simple problem took on my energy level, or how weary I was from being out of bed the last two hours.
He scribbled on a form. "It's only a citation. No problem. Get your paperwork in order, take it to the courthouse and show it to the clerks at the windows, and it'll be over."
No problem? Even for a healthy person, a trip to the courthouse was a problem. Time out of any day, driving downtown, finding a parking place, standing in line, dealing with overworked clerks, were all problems. For me, that entailed at least a week's worth of energy and endangered my life. I didn't have the oomph to explain, even if I had thought it would matter to this man. I put the citation and letter in my purse and hoped I had the resilience to make it home.
I switched insurance companies the next day and called the old one to tell them what had happened because of their mistake and cancel. This time, they immediately sent the card with a request to reconsider my decision. I didn't.
Insurance card in hand, I returned to the County Clerk's office to secure my updated license plate. After telling me about the late fee, this clerk said the one who had previously refused my letter should have called the insurance company for verification and saved me the fee and the citation.
I drove downtown, gave up hope of finding a meter space after three trips around the block, wound my way to the roof of a parking garage, waited for a smelly elevator, walked two blocks to the building, waited in line to be scanned for weapons, found 'the windows', and waited in a second line. My head swam as my blood pressure dropped and my temperature rose. When my turn came, I ditched my instinctive skirting of public surfaces and grabbed the counter for support before presenting my paperwork.
Relieved to have this experience behind me, I left the building and leaned against an outside wall to gather strength for my return to the car. I couldn't have identified the clerk inside if my life depended on it, but I did remember her words. "That's all we need. Everything's taken care of."
A short time later, I received a court notice for failing to resolve the citation. I called the clerk at 'the window'. After several transfers and a long wait, someone assured me the notice was a mistake; their records documented my 'taken care of' status.
I lost faith in 'the windows' crew when the second court notice arrived. This time, I called the court clerk, explained that I was on an anti-rejection drugs, had no immune system or energy, and that sitting in a crowded courtroom during flu season could have serious consequences for me. I requested permission to wait outside the courtroom in a safe place, or to go first. She told me the court does not make special allowances for disabilities.
On my second court date, my temperature was 104, every bone, muscle, and nerve in my body reminded me it wasn't happy with our connection, and I would have welcomed the flu if it promised to kill me and end the pain. Unfortunately, I did not have the strength to dress and leave the house to contract a new germ. I called the court clerk, who informed me I could not call in sick to court.
I tried 'the window' clerk again. She still insisted everything 'was taken care of' and the court notice was an error. She said not to worry, stay in bed, and she hoped I would feel better soon.
Four years later, I went to renew my driver's license and discovered that my failure to appear in court had resulted in a suspension of my license and a bench warrant. In no condition to deal with it then, I parked my car for months. My daughters drove me the only places I went - to the grocery, and the fourteen doctors offices and hospitals my most recent diagnoses and a surgery made necessary.
When ready to drive again, I returned to 'the windows' to see what I needed to do to get my driver's license back. The clerk looked me up in her computer, put me back on the docket, and handed me directions to a location across town. I was to go there, pay forty dollars, and have my license reinstated, before my court date.
Finally, something had gone my way. Actually, the before my court date information led me to believe more than one thing had gone my way. Why would I be eligible for reinstatement if they didn't know I brought in proof of insurance and updated tags? Before I left, the clerk told me I needed to take a money order because the office she was sending me to did not accept credit cards or cash.
My daughter drove me to the bank for the money order. I didn't have forty dollars cash, so I wrote a check to the bank – my bank, my branch. The teller asked for identification and I handed her my driver's license.
"I can't accept an expired ID," she told me. Fine. I pulled out my birth certificate, my Medicare card, and my social security card. None of them had a picture, so she would not accept them. I argued that the picture on my driver's license proved my identity, and the others were all valid. She wasn't going for any of it.
My daughter drove me to an ATM for cash, we went down the street to purchase a money order, and then to the off-site building listed on the paper 'the window' clerk had given me. A sign on the door said, Now Accepting Debit and Credit Cards. If only 'the window' clerk had known, I would not have wasted the last two stops.
I signed in, waited my turn, and found out they only renew licenses within one year of suspension, but I was eligible to get my license, I just had to start over with a learner's permit. I would have to test for the permit at another location. If only 'the window' clerk had known this, we wouldn't have wasted the last three stops and I wouldn't be holding an unnecessary money order.
"We're already out," my daughter said. "Let's go ahead and drive over there." I let her convince me I could pass the written test in my frazzled state.
She drove me to the next location. I waited in line. The clerk took my information, confiscated my expired driver's license that had been useful as identification everywhere except the bank, handed me a form, and instructed me to go around the corner to the testing room.
I smiled when I saw the giant stop sign outside the open door. I figured it was the first part of the test, and stopped. The clerk inside the room looked up and huffed. "You can come inside," she said. Her tone indicated I might be the stupidest person ever to come through the door.
I smiled again and handed her my paperwork. Without returning my smile, she pointed to a machine with goggles on the front. "Step up there for your vision test," she ordered.
My forehead pressed the lever on top and illuminated a screen. Through the goggles, I read the top line as instructed.
"Read the third column," she said.
There were no letters in my third column. All I saw was a blank rectangle. I told her this.
"You're blind," she said. "You fail and you should see a doctor."
I laughed. No one would tell another she was blind, in a flippant tone, unless kidding. Almost no one, this one did not laugh with me.
"There must be something wrong with this machine," I said. "There are no letters in the third column."
"Yes there are. You need to see a doctor."
I stepped away from the machine. "I see my ophthalmologist more often than most people see their spouse. I promise you I am not blind."
The next clerk correctly detected my loss of patience and invited me to try her machine. I stepped over, activated the lever on her machine with my forehead, and read off the letters in the first two columns. Her third column was also empty. I knew I wasn't blind, but panicked all the same. Obviously, something was wrong with my vision.
This woman smiled and turned to retrieve forms from a folder on the desk behind her. "You must have mono-vision," she guessed. I confirmed. "Our machines can't test mono-vision, so you will have to have your doctor fill out these forms." If the first girl had known this, she might not have been so rude.
I returned to the waiting room, told my daughter the outcome, and decided I might not want my driver's license after all. "You aren't blind, Mother. We probably have time to go to the doctor's office and get back here before they close. Let's go."
In the car, I looked at the forms and decided it would be inconsiderate to the doctor and the patients who had scheduled this time if I walked in and asked him to complete two pages of questions on my forms. I had my daughter take me home, where I faxed the forms to the office and asked the doctor to return them at his convenience.
Obviously, I did not get my driver's license before my court date. My other daughter drove me to court. As usual, the docket was long and the attorney cases went first. An hour is about how long I can sit on a hard surface, or speak without a drink. Two hours into the session, I considered taking the pain pills in my purse, but knew I'd choke if I tried to swallow them, and didn't want to risk compromising mental clarity. I changed positions often, unable to find one that relieved the pain in my hip although the movement secured my ability to walk when I did finally get to stand again.
"I'm going to ask the sheriff if they can call you soon," my daughter whispered. I reminded her that the court does not make special allowances for disabilities. The sheriff noticed my distress, or our whispering, and came to see if I was okay. I explained my situation and asked if he could permit me to leave the courtroom to walk and get a drink of water, and explain my absence if they called my name while I was out. He granted permission.
When I returned, the sheriff said he had pulled my case, explained the situation, and asked the judge to call me soon. I thanked him. An hour later, he shook his head when I pulled out a tissue to dry my eyes.
My hip was out of socket when I walked to the front of the room, but I made it there without limping or falling. I leaned on the podium for support. No one read my charges so I didn't know they had dropped my real crime - driving with an expired license plate. I might have suggested that was proof I had satisfied someone at the windows' at some point.
The judge asked if I had documentation to prove I had insurance on that date five years earlier. I said I had given my documentation to the clerk at 'the windows', and could not reproduce it because I didn't remember the name of the insurance company. She gave me another court date and said to return with the documentation. Assuming she either hadn't heard or didn't understand, I explained that I could not produce the document on any court date, since I had left my proof at 'the windows' and could not remember the name of the insurance company to ask for a duplicate.
She sneered, chuckled, rolled her eyes at the snickering bitch beside her, and finally asked, "Do you expect me to believe you don't remember who you had insurance with?"
I said yes, I did ask her to believe that because it was the truth. I had cancelled the policy five years before and had no reason to maintain that information since I had delivered it to the court and been assured my citation was 'taken care of'. She told me to either bring the documentation on the next court date or go to jail. Again, she said she could not believe anyone would forget who they had insurance with five years before.
My daughter came forward and explained that she had been with me the night the officer pulled me over. "I'm a witness. My mother had the insurance information in her purse that night, but the police officer wouldn't look at it." The judge told her to sit down.
I wanted to explain that I live on disability income, drive junker cars, and go with whichever insurance company offers me the lowest rate, but the judge refused to listen to another word from me.
"Who do you have insurance with now," she asked.
"I don't have insurance now," I answered. "I don't have a driver's license and my car has been parked for months."
"For months?" She feigned horror. "But you haven't had a license for years."
"No one told me I didn't have a license," I explained. "I only found out when I tried to renew my driver's license."
"I simply don't believe you," she said. "And I've done everything I can to help you."
"No, you haven't," I countered, because she had not allowed me to present my entire defense, or called the clerk from 'the window' to testify that the court notice was a mistake.
She slammed her hand on the desk and ordered me to sit in a chair in the front of the courtroom, until I was ready to apologize or she decided to send me to jail, whichever came first.
I went to my time-out chair, more humiliated and angrier than I had ever been in my life. Someone at the insurance company had made a mistake. Someone in the County Clerk's office had been too lazy to call my insurance company and renew my registration. While twenty thousand unserved warrants sat in a pile somewhere in this city, a police officer pulled me over for driving with a license plate that was thirty-six days expired and couldn't give me the time it took to read the two-paragraph letter I presented in my defense. My crime was paying my taxes late, and the system's built-in late fee would compensate.
Somewhere between the clerks at 'the window' and the person who sends out court notices, someone missed the fact that I had 'taken care of' my citations. Later, someone(s) behind 'the windows' lost my paperwork, and someone in the system forgot to inform the clerks at 'the windows' about the policies in that the office across town. Now, I was stuck with a judge who rolled her eyes, called me a liar, and denied me the opportunity to present my case.
On a scale of one to ten, my physical pain was at least a ten. Emotionally, I probably registered somewhere around fifteen. Something about being treated like a two-year-old made me behave the same. I sobbed. I wiped my nose on my sleeve because my purse was unattended in the back of the courtroom and the judge wouldn't allow anyone to come near me. The judge asked the giggling fat bitch beside her what my problem was, and together they laughed at me. The sheriff looked at me like his heart might break.
One brave man defied the judge's warning glare and brought my purse to me so I could blow my nose. Others ventured forward. An attorney pled with me to apologize, because she would put me in jail for contempt. My daughter, who had left the courtroom to call her sister and plan for my bail, came back and asked if there was something she should do. I asked her to contact the media if I went to jail.
I ended up apologizing, and I'm sorry I did because it was not sincere. The courthouse doesn't have my records from five years ago. Our system purges DUIs at five years, even if fatality cases, but not my citation. The County Clerk's office keeps records four years.
That judge's last words to me were, "I advise you to get a good attorney."
I told her I was on disability and could not afford an attorney. She refused to order a public defender for me.
It is now five years and four months since I made that decision to break the law. My next court date is at the end of June.
The lovely judge in this case has been the lowest rated judge in this county for several years.
She is on the ballot for re-election in November.
Considering the circus of errors in this situation, and the fact that none of the people involved knew how sick I was or how much their actions affected me, I wrestled with my willingness to dump my resentment on this judge. In the end, I believe this is where it belongs. The buck stops with her, and she decided to call me a liar when there were people in the building who could have proven I brought my documentation to 'the windows' in 2001. She also refused to allow me to defend myself, or use a public defender, although I qualify for the service.
My campaign has just begun.
Update: This judge was not re-elected in November.
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