I got a speeding ticket for going 27 mph in a 20 zone. The fine was pretty steep, so at a friend’s recommendation, I scheduled a hearing to see if I could get it reduced.
While I was waiting my turn, the guy next to me, G, a Paiute Indian (he told me so), introduced himself and gave me a fist bump. He then told me a bunch of excellent small stories, about jumping freights and how his gramma taught him not to smoke and about his work as a longshoreman loading the cruise ships and how one time, right after he’d read a story about key lime pie — “They have this huge festival. In Florida!” — he was loading a pallet of limes on the ship and the chef gave him the most gorgeous serving of key lime pie he’d ever had, with all the fancy presentation and a tiny perfect mint leaf. He grew up near Lake Tahoe. “We had some land there,” he said, “well, you know, not like it was supposed to be our land, but we had a place there…”He just shook his head a little, not angry, but as though I understood all the history in that tiny remark.
When I was called to appear, he offered me an apple for the judge. “I’ve got an extra one, if you need it!” I declined, but I could not have been more charmed.
The judge reduced my fine to the lowest allowed by the books. It took about five minutes. My new friend was still in the lobby. “I guess you didn’t need my luck!” he said. “That was fast!” But I think he was wrong, I’m pretty sure the goodwill the judge showed me came from the sunshine I brought in to the hearing with me.
I rode my bike home under a bright blue sky. I’m not saying you should go to traffic court, but if you have to, this is how it should go down.