There are three prosecutors standing at evenly spaced podiums in the front of the courtroom. The courtroom, which reminds me of a small chapel with lots of pews and no cross, is packed with myself and other ne'er-do-wells. Seems I "failed to answer" a ticket I got for an "unregistered vehicle" in "October" "2012" it is "April" "2013". The ticket is a wallet draining $285.00.
Monday, I received the letter that my license would be suspended in three weeks if I didn't respond this time. Thing is I did respond the first time. I wrote a letter, sent photos- the whole shebang. Look where it got me...threatened and on the phone with a clerk with a mouth on her who told me to "come to court right now- don't wear your pajamas." Um, okay. The first part I can do, the second? I'll try. I mean seriously. Don't wear your pajamas? I was so irritated.
So, there are three prosecutors standing at podiums; two shorties, and one tall guy. They call names off of the drivers licenses in the order they are received and you go up and plead your case when they get to yours.
"Susan Saraf." The tall prosecutor calls my name.
I walk up and don't mind that he's the tallest and has the most hair. I do mind that his energy feels intimidating. Maybe it was the label "prosecutor".
"So where's the registration?" he asks.
"Yes, um, well, I couldn't find it in the glove compartment so I took a picture of the one on the windshield." I stammer. Hoping to pass.
"Only problem with that is I won't be able to see the date it was issued."
"Yes, you will." I say, confidently. I know this because I looked when I took the photo! Score for the defense!
"Okay, show me." he says.
I boot up my phone (no cell phones in court). He's very serious. This makes me nervous. It takes a lot longer than I want it to. My hands don't work well under pressure. Eventually, (30 seconds?) I hand him the picture. He looks at it and asks me to read the date that the registration was issued.
"February 23, 2014. See?" I point to the date on the photo of the registration smiling. Told ya.
"Yeah, that date didn't happen yet." he says. Looking somewhat disgusted by my being an idiot or resigned that I'm just like every other person he will see today.
"Oh, ha. Right." Oops.
He doesn't raise his head or make eye contact for the remainder of the "hearing."
"Okay, so you got the ticket in October, let's say you waited four months to get the car registered after that."
"I have a REALLY bad memory for this stuff," I admit. "I don't know."
"Okay, well, it wasn't registered when you got the ticket right?"
"Right, no."
"Okay, so let's leave it at that," he says, cheerfully.
"Leave it at what?" I ask.
"Well, yes. Yes." I say.
"Okay, I'll knock off a hundred bucks," he says.
He writes 150 x 30 on the ticket. Below that he write 180.
I'm ho-hum. I'm not psyched. $180 still stinks. It's steep but not a suspension. And I have no idea what the "x30" means. But...I'm not asking for more since he pointed out that I waited four months and he's tough. I can tell he's tough.
This is where a normal person would walk away. But I've become interested in a tiny gold angel he has pinned to his lapel. Defeated during the line of questioning, my attention was drawn to the angel more than once. I wondered if he pinned it on a different suit everyday or wore this jacket everyday and it had become part of it, like a pocket. In the otherwise immaculate presentation of his dress, there was a bit of fraying around the spot.
"Who's your angel?" I ask him, looking at his lapel.
"Huh?" he asks.
He looks at my face for the first time since he realized I didn't know what year it was.
"Who's your angel on your pin?"
"Oh," he is caught off guard, emotion floods his face. He shakes his head dismissively. "A, uh, a deceased family member."
His eyes hit the podium and he is again done looking at me. I nod in sympathy. I can feel his emotion. I feel sad for his loss. I think I feel the angel is in the space between us.
He takes his pen and makes the 1 of the 150 into a dollar sign by drawing an S over it. $50.
Then he crosses out the unregistered vehicle charge and writes in new letters and numbers- I later find out from the judge that meant he reduced my charge to Jay Walking and lifted the suspension. The x30 is a standard unrelated court fee everyone must pay as soon as they enter a case. Not bad. Now I'm sure I felt the angel in the space between us!
When I told my mom she said, you are so lucky. When I told my mother in-law, she said, you are so good (sly). When I told my husband he said, you saved $235 bucks! But I kinda think they (sorry!) missed the point. I was done negotiating. It was the angel. I would love to be lucky (does a lucky person end up in court?) I would love to be sly (does sly forget to bring the registration?) and I would love to have saved us $235. (I hate to point out that I actually lost us $50.) If you don't believe in angels...there felt a deeper instruction about noticing something about someone else and being moved to acknowledge no matter the circumstances. What happened after I noticed the angel was awesome- don't get me wrong. That it moved him to absolve a huge chunk of fee's and my suspension. I absolutely loved and needed that. I doubt I'd be telling this story if he didn't do that. But, I believe the angel was there with us. Maybe that makes people want to puke. There are better people for the job of writing about that presence, but of all my stories this week I thought that was the most fun to share.
I never found out his name or the name of his angel, his face closed up like cement over a sink hole immediately following, but I'm glad I asked (on many levels) and I'm guessing he was too. God bless our sweet angels all around us. May they all reduce your fees and lift your suspension. <3
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