As I wrote recently, I was hit with a $54 parking ticket which made no sense, so I decided to fight it in night court. When my date came, I was more relaxed than I thought I’d be. I made certain to wear shoes instead of sneakers. I double checked that my colors matched, that my shirt was tucked in, and that nothing sticky was on my body.
While others fidgeted and paced the courtroom, I placidly read The Quiet American. Let me say this – everyone else in the place looked guilty, with slumped shoulders, and a hangdog, embarrassed expression.
I, in contrast, looked everyone right in the eye, sat up straight while the GUY WITH THE LOUD VOICE called each of us up to a long desk to make sure we were checked in. Another short, serious man wearing a badge sat, then stood, and then sat again, eyeing all of us with a look that hinted he knew more about night court, indeed, Hoboken itself, than we’d be able to handle.
The city prosecutor, who was bearded and wearing glasses, looked like a pondering philosophy professor played by Jeff Daniels. He subsequently called us up one at a time to the desk, quickly reading charges, making deals, erasing drivers’ points, modifying fines in return for guilty pleas. Few rejected his offers. Most trudged off downstairs to pay those fines.
With me, he stared at the ordinance code on the ticket, which I said I didn’t understand. Apparently neither did he. He promised to look it up, but as the minutes passed, he concentrated on other defendants.
The judge entered from the rear. I could see medium length blonde hair set off nicely by her black robe. When she reached her elevated seat, I saw cute chipmunk cheeks, and tiny, observant eyes. She flawlessly recited her required speech about rights and behavior in court.
The GUY WITH THE LOUD VOICE ordered all children to wait outside, so it was quiet but crowded.
Lawyers huddled with clients, lawyers huddled with the prosecutor, clients huddled with family, and lawyers huddled with lawyers. I refrained from huddling mainly because I had no one to huddle with.
I was determined to fight this thing myself. This was my Henry Fonda moment.
When my name was called, the prosecutor immediately appeared by my side, saying there was no way they could prove I did what the ticket said I did, which neither of us could figure out anyway, so he was dismissing all charges.
I looked at the judge. Without hesitating, she announced charges were dismissed. She was elegant, imperial, in total command, judge-ly.
She had, with a disdainful gesture, tossed out the ticket and put $54 back in my pocket. My body quivered. I was smitten. Finally, I have found my soulmate. I must get this woman’s digits. – Joe Del Priore
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