Ticket To Ride

Sometimes even potential Mr. Golden Globe nominees get traffic tickets: that is what I realized as I walked into the Long Beach Courthouse this morning.

A few months back I was pulled over by an officer for ALLEGEDLY running a stop sign. In all honesty, I really didn’t think I did anything wrong. I was taking my usual route home from work and the next thing I knew, a copper, from out of nowhere was hot on my tail. Thinking he was pulling someone over ahead of me, I quickly pulled over – but my heart sank when he pulled over behind me.

I was POSITIVE I stopped, but I still got a ticket. However, the officer’s words to me were, “I strongly suggest you fight this.”

WTF? Then why are you giving me a ticket, sir? However, I took this as a hint that on the day of my “fighting it” in the courtroom, he wasn’t going to show. So, after a summer of more stress than normal regarding a traffic violation, I was given my court date.

I walked into the courthouse today and was really freaking nervous – like Bling Ring scale nervous. I didn’t know where to go; my only inkling was “The 2nd Floor” which was printed on my ticket. For about 10 minutes I waited in a random line I shouldn’t have been in, but then escaped and asked a random policeman passing by where to go. He helped and told me to wait outside my specific courtroom. Okay, phew, feeling a little better.

However, my reprieve was short-lived. A few officers were also lining up outside the courtroom – the officers who had issued the tickets. I looked for mine, but realized I was so in shock when I was pulled over, the cop could have whacked me in the face with a pair of num-chucks and I wouldn’t have recognized him.

This one cop, all smiles and rosy cheeks, pulled a fellow delinquent from the line and told him he was going to dismiss his case. I’ve never felt jealousy like I did at that moment. Where the heck was my guardian-cop-angel? I really didn’t want him to show up, but then again maybe I did, just so he could say I was dismissed.

How I felt all morning.

Then, Mark Consuelos’ doppelganger walked past me and I tried to sneak a peek at the name on his badge. And there it was. There, emblazoned on a bronze nameplate on his chest, the same name that matched the one on my ticket. The mother-copper showed up after all.

Then, like Jurassic Park, the big double doors to the courtroom opened and I instantly sympathized with Lindsay Lohan. I was toast.

I rehearsed my plea bargain in my head probably 846 times until the judge came out, all the while watching Mark Consuelos to see if he’d call me over and dismiss me.

“But you strongly suggested I fight it, Mark! So here I am!”

The judge whom you can look here was a guy I knew I would have liked had I met him under less terrifying circumstances. He was old. And jolly. And seemed to be the kind of man that could grab a hot girl’s ass and get away with it just because he was old and funny. You know, that guy.

The judge called an Asian man’s name and dismissed his case because the officer never appeared. Lucky bastard, I thought to myself. Then, the Judge called my name. My mind LITERALLY went blank. I popped up onto my feet and the judge said something to the effect of, “officer not present, case dismissed.” I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I mumbled something surely unintelligible and POWER-WALKED out of the courtroom as fast as I could.

What just happened? Mark Consuleos wasn’t my guy???? I was SAFE!!!!!! HHAAHAHAHAH

No exaggeration, I fucking SKIPPED out of the courthouse, grinning stupidly, on cloud nine. As I do with most major events in my life, I called my Mom and told her that her pride and joy was a free man.

“Congratulations, honey,” she said. “But guess what? Your brother has to go to traffic court next week.”

HA! Good luck, Seany, hopefully I didn’t use up all the Langan Luck.