Traffic Court

by Chad Miller /// October 1st, 2007

I’ve never been to traffic court before. However, I recently had the joy to be able to spend a large part of one of my days there.

I got a ticket for an expired tag about a month ago (on a holiday, of course). Generally, I’ll just pay the ticket and be done with it, because it normally costs under $100 to make it go away.

Paying the Ticket

So last Tuesday, I went to the ‘Ticket Payment’ window in the Municipal Court building in downtown Jackson (a joy in itself). I had heard people gripe about this sort of thing before, so I was prepared for the ticket-window workers to be a bunch of grumps. To my surprise, the ladies who work at the ticket window are not only human beings, but they are kind, sweet ladies.

“Great!” I was thinking to myself. “This won’t be so bad at all! I’ll just pay these nice ladies and be off on my merry way!”

Not so. “That’ll be $192.50,” said the nice lady as she smiled at me. Come again? “$192.50. Would you like to see the judge about it?”

The Judge? Did that mean I was going to court? Did that make me a criminal? Was I under arrest?

“Um, I think I’ll just pay it.” I got out my checkbook and opened it, and started searching for my pen.

“Are you sure you don’t want to see the Judge instead? I could get you in tonight…you’d be the second person in line.”

She seemed to really think it would be a good idea if I went to see the judge. “I can’t really make it tonight, I have other commitments.” I found my pen.

“How about Thursday? I can get you in to see the Judge on Thursday at 3.” She wasn’t giving up! Maybe she knew something that I didn’t.

“Um, I’ve never been to court before. What would I tell him?”

“Just show your face. That may be all you need to do.” Really? I could just show my face and maybe get this $192.50 fine reduced? I guess it’s worth a shot, right?

“Okay, what time on Thursday again?”

“Be there at three. This building, room 127.”

Coming to Court

So Thursday came around and I was at the courthouse at 3. Now when I was there before, it was quiet and still, and there was no one around except the building entrance guards. So I naturally expected the same thing when I got there on Thursday. Of course, this was not the case.

The line to get inside the building wound through the lobby, out the front door, and down both sets of stairs onto the sidewalk in front of the courthouse. What on earth could all these people be here for?

I took my place in line and casually made conversation with the guy next to me. “You here for traffic court?” I asked. He was here for traffic court. All these people were. And I was at the back of the line.

It could be worse though, right? All I’d have to do is wait in line, then let the Judge call me, reduce my fine, and I’d be out of here. Right?

Not so. I stood and waited in the courtroom for two and a half hours. He didn’t call my name. Just as the ticket window was about to close, I stepped out of the courtroom and dashed to the ticket window to make sure the lady had indeed put me on the court’s schedule for today.

She had the day off. So I had another kind, sweet ticket window lady search the office for my ticket. “It’s not in here, sir, it must be in the courtroom,” she told me. Well, that’s good…it means I just have to keep waiting.

So I went back to the courtroom and waited more. After another hour, the court was all but empty.

“You were supposed to be here for court today, son?” a court officer asked me. “Yes sir,” I replied. He said, “Give me your copy of that ticket, and I’ll find our copy.”

Twenty minutes later, he came back. “I can’t find it.”

So the judge asked for my copy of the ticket, and called my name. I went and stood before him, as I’d seen several hundred others do when their names were called. “Chad Miller,” he said, “you’re dismissed. Time served.”