For those that do not know, my job consists of being an employment screener. 90% of my job is looking at criminal backgrounds. As you can imagine, most of the charges are the same..
speeding
speeding
driving without license
speeding
Oh! Crimes Against Nature *giggle*
Well once in a great while I come across "Faulty Speedometer".
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I take you back to 2002. I owned a klunky White Dodge Neon aka 'The Shitter Bitter'. This car was purchased from a lovely Indian family who sent their daughter of to college. I ruined this car. Most of you know me as a speed demon, and driving a 4 cylinder was agony. Regardless I manage to crank my way around most of southeast Wisconsin.
At 17 I had an affinity for Bacardi O and Corona. I was lucky enough to have a cousin who would purchase said liquor. One evening I called on Sir Gus-Gus to aid the ever-lushing-lunatics and buy us some booze.
"hurry up, shimmy"
I always found it evil there was a cop car that parked at the church off six mile. I mean how fair is that, really? Here I am THANKING the lord for such things as booze and teenage stupidity and just like that I got lights in my rear view. I should probably turn down the Lil' Jon pulsing from the 15" speaker in back..
"Ma'am. Can I ask why you were going 60 in a 40 zone?"
Do I tell him I'm in a mad rush to get drunk and stupid?
"Well to be honest, I'm just rushing home to have dinner with my Aunt. As you can see on my license I'm almost there. Nevermind the 4 inch heels I've got on. If I don't move the seat far back enough, it gives my gas pedal a boost" *beams*
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Of course I got a ticket going 20 over. Actually brought it to 15 because I was too precious to be taken to jail for reckless driving..
But I was required to go to court.
Roy takes me. The convicted felon father. If this didn't make me sweat already...
When I'm called upon, Roy takes the seat next to me in front of the judge.
"Whats your plea"
Roy: Well actually sir, my daughters car has a broken speedometer and --
"IF YOU'RE TRYING TO ARGUE A FAULTY SPEEDOMETER IN *MY* COURT YOU'RE WAY OFF MR. VILLARREAL"
My father was rosey with rage. And as I saw his lips curl and legs straighten up to stand I kicked him right the hell back down. Thats it. I was going to jail...
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I shut my eyes as hard as I could hoping I could wish my way out of the seat next to a grumbling and enraged mexican man. He continued to mutter under his breath. The judge asked us to leave and sent us on our way with a fine.
"You know, Shimmy.. my leg kinda hurts. Did you think I was going to get us in trouble?"
Cue that shit-eatin grin he sports every time he thinks he's done something clever..
"Yeah, Dad. I wasn't about to argue with the man that holds the key to my freedom."
"Well for the record, Valencia, I'm only afraid of SUPREME court judges. Not these fuckin little guys out in the middle of nowhere. SUPREME court judges. The ones that have to look down at your from waaay up there ..."
He continued on most of the way home. And to be honest, I miss those ridiculous talks now. Between me and Roy - Badass - Villarreal. So everytime I find a that charge listed, I giggle a little. And I hope I always will.
