To Fix A Ticket

Back in December, I received a speeding ticket. Yes, I was speeding, but I think it was an understandable reaction. He was in an unmarked car. Riding in your blindspot. For a mile. Speeding up as you speed up. Slowing down as you slow down. I thought he was a car load of methed-up teenagers. I stomped it. He lit me up. A speeding ticket followed.

Rolled to Covington, LA, this morning. DA wouldn't talk on the phone. Had to show up in person. Cruising through some sleepy little bayou town. Spanish moss. Locals-only cafe. Dirt roads. And WHAM. A three-story, bruick and courthouse. Couple million square feet. And no parking. Had to cruise down back roads and park a half mile away from the building.

The DA finally called my ticket number. I hand him the paperwork. He says we can talk in his office. Points me to his have a seat. Hands my ticket to his admin. She types in the number. Types in my SSN. I don't say anything. And the DA says, "How about if I reduce it to a non-moving violation? Won't show up on your insurance." I nod. "That was my goal. Thank you."

Takes me longer to walk to the car than it took to settle the ticket.