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I HATE YOU!
article by george he's got it
Hey, City of Austin Judicial System, I hate you. Not in the Abbie Hoffman sense, but in the I-want-to-release-one-million-cracked-out-hedgehogs-through-the-halls-of-justice sense. Sure, hedgehogs are cute, but that’s the brilliance of my plan, because even cute animals need to shit. Just imagine, they infiltrate the Legion of Doom, gain the City of Austin’s trust, then deuce all over the red tape. THEN, if they try to pick up my erinaceus friend, BAM! It’s a hedgehog.
I suppose my hatred would be best served by some context, so allow me to explain. One unemployed summer day (come to think of it, it was December, but about 90°) I was riding my bicycle downtown to meet up with a former boss of mine. I approached the red light at 11th and Congress and waited. After a minute, I checked for traffic, looked both ways once, then twice, then a third time for good measure, and crossed the street without collisional disappointment. As anyone who knows me will confirm, I’m deafish, so I didn’t hear the jackass behind me yell out for me to pull over. It was an officer. Of the law. On his bicycle.
I arrived at my destination at 9th and Congress and began to chain up my bike when the aforementioned douche-stache immediately busted out pen and paper to write me up a golden ticket. He said nothing except for that I had ran two red lights (which is verifiably untrue.) As he hopped back on his cop cruiser I asked how much the ticket was, and was told to look at the back of the ticket. Two hundred and seventeen dollars. Naturally, I asked him if he was fucking serious, and he told me to have a nice day. Admittedly, that was an awesome response. You’re good, Officer…let’s just call him officer Shmamirez. You try countering that farewell without punching him in the gall bladder, an offense that would surely carry a fine greater than $217.
To this day I’m haunted by my decision to not lead this bike cop on a wild goose chase. I’ve dreamt about a bike chase for years, mapping out my escape route and preparing taunts for the occasion. I was going to find the steepest hill I could find and laugh maniacally all the way up while tossing eggs and banana peels over my shoulder. If he called for backup I was going to ride to Mexico or go down in a hail of taser-fire…but I let my delusions slide with a pathetic whimper. I could have been a hero to the bicycling community at large. I could have been the Michael Vick of red light running. Sure, it’s illegal, but I did it with respect for the SUVs that could have politely smashed me.
But the ticket was only the beginning.
To clarify, I admit it, I broke the law. I ran a red light. Let’s move on. What I cannot accept is the same fine an automobiler would receive for a similar infraction. Do I even need to explain the difference between a Chevy and a Schwinn crossing the road at the wrong time? A Chevy would kill a group of children, whereas I would totally awe them with a fist pump and a super wheelie. So, fuck you Chevy, I hate you, too. Why do you hate children so much?
The first step to solving my ticket crisis was to show up for my court appearance. They post the docket outside the court so that every yenta can find your name and offense, then promptly LOL some asshole on the receiving end of a text message. There I am, Ticket – Ran Red Light, Bicycle. The woman next to me asked why I was here. I pointed, laughter ensued. This was the first of many yucks at my expense. Inside there were two prosecutors, each starting from the opposite end of the alphabet and working inward. My last name begins with a D. Ninety minutes later, I was the last fucking person called. D. D was the last letter called. Not a problem though, I had plenty of time to prepare my “case” for a civil argument and a hopefully reduced fine, etc. But, you know what really jams a stick in my spokes? A cold, soulless lawyer-type with reason-proof ears. She would have none of my “reasoning” or “facts” and instead offered me a few choices: 1.) Pay the $217 (fuck you) 2.) Take a Defensive Driving Class (fuck you) or 3.) Go to trial (eh, fuck you for wasting my time.)
As much as I morally objected to such an inane punishment, I opted for the Driver’s Safety Course, because, well, I’m the driver of a bicycle and don’t have a license. I won’t go into the details of why thousands of mothers across this great nation hate me, or why I know that they only offer size 15 sandals at the county jail, but I needed my bike for primary transportation.
April rolled around before I realized I should probably complete the DD class. As I was registering for an online course, I checked the City of Austin website for the police info on the ticket. Several acronyms later I realized I was unable to take the DD class due to my enrollment in one within the last year. Begrudgingly, I called up the City of Austin to clarify. Naturally, the operator laughed when I told him my offense and we got down to the nitty-gritty of the shitty city code. I was told that I had to take the DD class, to which I responded that this was a stupid ass idea with absolutely no basis in reality. He paused, clicked, and hummed then put me on hold. He returned with a stutter, then asked if I was standing or sitting. I replied that I was pissed, judge for yourself. Now, I was told I only had to pay the $217 fine, but the violation would go on my driving record, because I was, you know, driving. A fucking bike. That didn’t sit too well with me, so he put me on hold again, then discovered that the offense would be expunged upon payment, but not without another resolute chuckle for good measure.
So, I waited until the final day to pay before meandering up to the Municipal Court. After staring at Beetlegeuse in the waiting area for a solid half hour, my number was called as the time on my parking meter dwindled down. It was a race. At the counter I swiped my debit card with a forlorn flick of the wrist to pay the goddamned fine. To my surprise, the total was a measly $175! That’s a bargain! But just before I could walk away the counter woman asked if I had proof of my DD class. I did not, and a tumor formed somewhere deep in my frontal lobe. I shared a few words with her, but all that really came out were slurred pejoratives and a handful of oral spasms. The woman referred me to the walk-in judge, who I was at least hoping was similar in countenance to Matlock. He was not. After another half hour I stood before the judge, and was informed that I still had to take the DD course, despite the fact that it was bullshit of the highest caliber. Oh, oh, oh, but he did sympathize with me though, because he was considering getting a bike soon! That allayed all my anxiety and homicidal tendencies, let me tell you.
Now my plan is to speak with someone new every day until I get the answer I want. Until then, and even after that, I hate you, City of Austin Judicial System. Suck on my hedgehogs.