Your First Court Appearance

(Part II, see previous post)

Tuesday, 1:30, 3 weeks after the ticket was issued.

You haven't given it too much thought since that productive google search.  You know it's going to be expensive, but this won't bankrupt you and your partner in finances isn't upset or even annoyed.

(He's probably thinking that this is a small price to pay to have a wife who will no longer harass him about his speed.)

Two different friends have offered to watch your son while you go to court, but you decide to take the boy.  It should be a good experience for him.  Especially because you already see in him the makings of a fine lawyer, and if that's the path he ends up taking, then seeing the wheels of justice turn could only be helpful.

You might even see some bad guys.  That'd be cool, right?

There were no bad guys.  Just a bunch of other people showing up to the courthouse at the same time as you for, roughly, the same offense.  Your courtroom is right off the main lobby, so you don't get to walk where any real action is going on.

The room has a lot of oak furnishings in front, like Judge Woppner's, and is filled with oak church pews for seating.  Not that they came from a church.  But the supplier must be the same.  No kneelers, though. . . 

You are nursing a sense of dread, still.  How bad is this going to be? 

But in a spiritual sense, you feel alive.  Just this morning, you had been thinking, "What would that be like, to face death, knowing that you're not perfect, haven't lived a perfect life, haven't loved perfectly, haven't grown perfectly?  Knowing that there really is a Justice beyond this lifetime?  What would that be like to look towards that without knowing that I have a Savior who stood the justice for me?"

You went to this courthouse thinking, "I'd love to tell just one person here about Jesus and what the cross means.  Should be easy to get into, right?  The whole justice-theme will be in the air. . ." 

But you don't.  You either don't have the opportunity, or don't make the opportunity, or don't have the courage to pursue the opportunity.

You sit in the front pew, awaiting your paper plea agreement to come back.  The side door opens now and then (and your son peeks through and reports that it's "a computer room with two people in suits") and the City Attorneys bring out your ticket with their offer on it.

The whole room of law-breakers get their papers back and we watch a DVD presentation on our rights.  Spanish speakers are told where they can view a presentation in Spanish.  Korean speakers, too.  Hearing-impaired people are not told out loud, but the words are printed on the screen.  New Age, soothing, "Everything will work out just fine" music plays in the background until the flat screen shuts off.

You butt into the conversation going on in the pew behind you.  Between a father and son, the son destined to campus in the Fall on a football scholarship, college un-named, but you have advice anyway.  It's good advice.  He seems like a very nice kid.  Not what you thought you'd be talking to a stranger about, but you do, anyway.

The CA comes in and gives a lively presentation of how this process works. You have the opportunity to plead guilty to driving with a "faulty headlamp," which makes for 1 point against insurance.  The minimum fine for your offense is $120, but it's double for being in a school zone.  Then there are court fees on top of this. 

In all, you are looking at the minimum penalty permitted by law.  If the judge accepts it.

A lady in another pew asks, 'Will the Judge look at the policeman's comments on the back of the ticket?" 

What?  Comments?!

Your cop made notes as well, that hadn't shown up on the copy you've been hanging onto for 3 weeks.  He recorded his version of your conversation with him.  He accuses you of being "sarcastic." 

Well.  This is not an accurate report at all.  He left off the part where he smirked at you.  Where he used the phrase "just stay at home." 

Time for another stand for justice, if it comes to it.  If the judge wants to go harder on you because he is annoyed with your comments to this officer, you'll just contest. 

Your memory is practically audiographic!  You can repeat the conversation verbatim these 3 weeks later and demonstrate that you are a fine citizen, a practically-not-even-guilty citizen.  What?  Are you supposed to not be permitted to speak to a policeman?  This is so out--

You stand for the Honorable Old Probably Retired and Now Working Part Time Judge.  You tell your son to stand.  Judge starts rattling off plea agreements.  Lots of "Yes, your Honor's" and "Thank yous."

"Thank you."  Will you say "Thank you" to this judge?  Why would you thank him?   He seems to have practically nothing to do with this.

Your name is called.  Yes, you are pleading guilty to driving with a faulty headlamp.  That offense costs $240 in the city of Colorado Springs, plus court fees.  $275 total, room 108.

"Thank you," you say.  Because he was kind of a cute old man.

Your court appearance lasted 9.8 seconds.  It takes a mere 3.5 minutes to pay down in room 108, where their system is well-oiled and cheerful. 

You see the football player and his dad on your way out and wish him "luck." 

"Luck."  Though you don't even believe in it.