Yesterday, I got a notice from the city a town away from me, that I’d neglected to pay the fine for failure to get my car inspected. Got the car inspected the next day, then forgot about it. Well, there was a website address for me to go to, to pay the fine online. As these things normally go, it wouldn’t let me. I got an error message last night when I keyed in the court and ticket numbers, plus my license plate; didn’t get that this afternoon, but it told me I had to contact the municipal court.
Fine — City Hall’s only 2.2 miles away. The truck was in the driveway, blocking my car in the garage, so we took the truck and drove over to City Hall. The violations bureau window was easy enough to find; it was on the right-hand side of the main foyer. Paperwork in hand, I was prepared to write a check. I nearly laughed when I noticed that the signs taped to the window were in Spanish first, then in English. That says something about who gets issued tickets.
It was a $130 fine, plus a $10 late fee. Alright, just pay it. All this because I originally forgot to get my car inspected, got it inspected the next day, but then forgot to pay the fine.
I received proof of payment, in case I get stopped again, and there’s any confusion, but wow. I’ve never had any points on my license. I’ve been pulled over twice in my entire life, and the first time was in 1981 or 1982. That was out-of-state, so no points were issued. I haven’t even gotten a parking ticket in over 10 years, and I got that one dismissed after providing proof that I had paid for my parking space, and the officer wrote the wrong space number on my ticket (it was snowy, so I can understand why it was hard to tell what space number I was parked in — that’s 168, not 186).
Well, this needed to be taken care of today. It was unfortunate that the high school was just letting out as we were on our way to City Hall, but we got there before it closed. I was surprised to see a cop doing crossing guard duty, instead of the usual crossing guard. What made it a pain to get by there, though, was not so much the kids; it was the lacrosse moms in their SUVs parked on both sides of the street waiting to pick up their kids. That never happened when I was in HS. We either walked, or occasionally, our parents would let us take one of their cars, and we drove ourselves. In London, I took the tube, along with just about every other student.
To top it off, when I got home, there was a flatbed tow truck, right in front of my house. Some red early 1970s MG had run off the road onto my lawn, but had miraculously managed to not hit any trees, and managed to stop short of plowing into the guard rail. It happens from time to time. People go bombing down the hill, then lose control as they approach the bend. This person went off the road on the straightaway before the bend. The road was wet, although it had stopped raining. After inspecting the skid marks on the lawn, where it hit and jumped the macadam, and where it hit an exposed tree root, I suspect it broke a front axle. That’ll be an expensive repair.
A few years ago, around 10pm, another driver ran off the road in roughly the same spot, but she was going uphill, and failed to negotiate the turn altogether. She clipped a few trees and came to rest right in front of a hedgerow. Lost her driver’s side mirror, and busted an axle. I think she’d had a few too many at an after-hours office party. So did the cops.
So, there you have it. That was my exciting afternoon.
I’ve been conscripted into accompanying dad to a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, because mom can’t do it. I have no idea where it is. That promises to be boring, unless I can step outside for a smoke. As much as I love cars, if I get stuck reading back issues of Car & Diver or Motor Trend, I’ll start climbing the walls in pretty short order.
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