Tickets, or Why Commuting Sucks

I have stumbled across the real reason that the crime rate in the United States has risen to such a high level…it’s because good, usually law-abiding citizens like myself are forced into it by an incompetent and uncaring law enforcement system. I received my first speeding ticket this morning. That’s right, after 12 years of driving I have received my first moving violation…for going 12 miles over the speed limit in an area where everyone else is doing at least that if not more. I just got to be the lucky one this morning. Maybe it was the fact that I have a brand new car, with the dealer plates still on it. Or maybe it was the fact that it was a city car, and I was in a Podunk suburb (Oak Park) speeding merrily through on my way to work. Or maybe it was because I took a drink of coffee from my travel mug while stopped at a light. Whatever the reason, I got pulled over. I told the nice gentleman that I didn’t realize I was speeding (probably because he didn’t pull me over until well after I had apparently been speeding) and that I was really late for work (which I was). He took my license and insurance and said he’d be back. Then began the game that I like to call “let’s see how pissed off we can make this chick by having a polite bantering conversation while she waits in her car, late for work, watching us in her rear view mirror.” I was irritated that I got pulled over, but irate that they held me there while they discussed God knows what. I doubt it was my stellar driving record.

In any case, the little worm (yes, I have been reduced to referring to police officers as worms…more on that later) finally returned with my insurance card and a lovely shiny new ticket. Notice, I did not say that he returned my license. Apparently, in the state of Illinois, if you speed, you lose your license. Your ticket serves as your license until they mail you yours once you’ve paid the fine. Or you can accompany the officer to the station house and pay it right there. Being late for work, I was forced to accept choice A, getting to work with no photo ID. Yeah, that’s going to fly. Like I’m going to let the state of Illinois mail my license back to me. Who thinks that I would actually get it?…not me. And for the record, asking the police officer if he’s seriously taking your license for something so minor is not a good idea.

So, I arrived at work a full half hour late, ticked as hell, with one thing on my mind…how to get my license back before one of these idiots loses it. I decided on my course of action. On my short lunch hour, I would go to the police station and pay my fine. I would even pay the additional fee and go to traffic school, so that my clean driving record could be restored.

At 11:30, I left work and drove the 11 miles to the police station in Oak Park, only to stumble across a traffic jam on I-290. Is there ever a time when there isn’t a traffic jam on I-290? I arrived at the station 20 minutes later, praying that this would be a short, painless task. The very nice police officer behind the bullet-proof glass window said he’d be happy to help me. We were off to a much better start. He just needed the ticketing officer (a.k.a., the worm) to bring the ticket to him. The good start ended there. It would have been nice if the kind officer had explained that the worm wasn’t actually in the building…he was still on rounds. So, I waited and waited. Getting frustrated, I decided to get some coffee from the table upstairs in the Village hall area. Alas, there was coffee, but no cups. What a cruel world!

A package of mini Oreos later, I went back down to the police department. It was 12:30, and my 45 minute lunch had been over for 15 minutes already. I stepped to the window again and a new face greeted me. He wasn’t nearly as nice. I explained the situation again. He informed me that he had my license, and I handed him my check for $105. Please enjoy the following verbal exchange, I know I did:

“We only take the $75. You’ll have to mail the $30 in for traffic school.”
“OK.” Me fumbling with my purse as I cursed having written a check that I wasn't going to use.
As I’m pulling out my checkbook to write another check, the officer says “We don’t take checks.” I stared at him blankly. “We only take cash.”
In complete disgust, “I wish someone had told me that.”
“The other officer didn’t tell you that?”
“Uh, no, the other officer did not tell me that,” I said nearly crying out of frustration and anger. “I’ll be back.”
“I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, but the other guy should have told you that,” he said as I walked dejectedly away.

Yeah, the other guy should have told me that. The three police officers I had talked to previously should have told me that. Somebody, God damn it, should have told me that, so that instead of hunting for nonexistent coffee, I could have been getting money from an ATM!

So, I returned to the front desk at the Village building and asked the nice lady behind the counter where the nearest ATM was. She sent me across the street to a BP gas station where I paid $1.75 in fees (not including the $2.50 charge that will appear on my statement) to get $80.00 out of my checking account. Let’s just be happy that it’s payday, shall we. In my heels with nylon covered legs (of all the days to wear a short skirt and have it have absolutely no effect but to make me really cold), I trudged in the freezing cold back over to the station to pay my bond. Not a fine, mind you…no…a bond—because I’m a hardened criminal who has been convicted of crime. Yup, that’s me…cuff me and lock me away.

I walked back down the stairs and over to the bullet-proof window yet again and handed the officer my $80.00. “Is that $80? We only take $75,” he said to me.
“You can’t make change?”
“We don’t.”

OK, am I the only person in the world who knows that ATMs don’t give money in five-dollar bills? If they only accept cash, then shouldn’t there be a bunch of five-dollar bills lying around to give me change with? Nope, that would make sense. Things that happen in my life hardly, if ever, make sense.

The officer finally agreed to apply it toward my traffic school fee, so that I’ll only have to send $25 instead of $30. Probably because I looked like I was ready to cry and kill at the same time. I’m not a hardened criminal yet, but I sure felt like becoming one after all that, but I'm not done yet.

Then, he started filling out the paperwork. At that point, it was 12:50. I was supposed to be back to work at 12:15. Any thought I had of getting a decent parking space was gone. I was just hoping to get back before the end of the day. He could have been filling out paperwork while I was running for money, but no he waited politely until I returned, so that I could have the pleasure of watching him print my name and information at a painstakingly slow pace. And then, he stopped to talk to someone. Then he answered the phone…twice. And out of politeness to them, he didn’t write while he was talking. He directed his undivided attention to these tasks, while I stood there being stared at by an old lady in a red coat who was pissed off at her neighbor for blowing the snow from his driveway into her garden. Apparently the fact that nothing grows in winter has escaped her attention.

Finally, he finished my paperwork and gave me my instructions and sent me on my way, apologizing once again for the inconvenience. “Inconvenience?! I have a job that I’m not currently at. A job I might not have if I don’t get my ass back to my desk sometime soon.” I said this to myself as I walked back to my car. As I got in, I realized that it was 1:00. I was still in Oak Park, and now I could not speed back to work because it’s just not a good idea to get stopped for speeding twice in one day. I finally did make it to work, at 1:30, and sat myself at my desk to work, where I promptly started writing this instead. I haven’t accomplished anything so far today, why ruin the trend?

Needless to say, I have nothing good to say about Oak Park. It may have been the birth place of Frank Lloyd Wright, but I will be pleased as punch if I never have to see that suburb again. And I won’t...at least not until Monday, when I have to come back to work…oh crap, I still have to drive home. So much for not seeing Oak Park…dammit, commuting sucks.