I Fought the Law and Actually Won!

Once again, the local law enforcement put the renegade JP firmly in their sights. I don't know what it is about me that attracts the Fuzz, but for once, I actually managed to come out unscathed.

Last night, the Worthington American Legion [an even dinkier town near Kittanning] held a virtual horse race to raise money for the local baseball team. Some guy has a whole collection of taped horse races. People can buy horses or simply bet on them in each race. Each horse is assigned a number, and then people bet on the horses before the tape is played. The tapes are completely random, so no one can know the outcome of the race.

It is indeed as stupid as it sounds, but it's actually a lot of fun. The biggest selling point is that it's five bucks to get in, but there's all the food you can eat and all the beer you can drink. It's a regular Kittanning paradise!

I didn't win anything at the races, but I did have quite a bit of beer. Given my height and girth, I can have quite a bit of booze before I get drunk. When I left the place around 11pm, I felt fine even though I'd probably had seven or eight beers.

But then on my way home, I see a sobriety checkpoint. Again, I don't think I'm drunk, but I've been wrong before. I pull up to the checkpoint and talk to the officer:
ME: "Evening officer!"
OFFICER: "We're conducting a sobriety checkpoint. Have you had anything to drink tonight?"
ME: "Yeah, a couple of drinks."
OFFICER: "How many is a couple?"
ME: "Maybe three or four over the last few hours." (LIE!)
OFFICER: "Where are you coming from?"
ME: "Um... well... it's this virtual... horse race thing where you bet on the horses... on the videos..."

It's damn near impossible to explain the virtual horse races without sounding like a lunatic. In retrospect, I should have expected...

OFFICER: "Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle sir."

Off we go to the side of the road. As we're walking, I'm going over the various sobriety checks in my head. I can do the backwards alphabet thing. I can even touch my nose. Hell, he could make me recite the Preamble to the Constitution, and I probably would have aced the test. But nooo!

OFFICER: "I'm going to have you walk an imaginary straight line walking heel-to-toe for nine steps."

I started to get nervous. I can't walk on a balance beam in the middle of the day. Sure enough, I couldn't keep my balance because my thunder-thighs kept getting in the way. But then came test two:

OFFICER: "I want you to lift your foot straight out in front of you for seven seconds. You count until I tell you to stop."

Now, I think I did this one pretty well. I had my foot in the air for seven seconds, but he didn't tell me to stop. I kept going until fourteen seconds, at which point I stumbled. He shook his head as if to say, "Tsk tsk, you rummy!" I was beginning to suspect a conspiracy. He finally calls to his buddy:

OFFICER: "Hey Larry! Go get the breathalyser for this one!"

He then turns to me.

OFFICER: "You did so-so on the test, so we're going to have to take a breathalyser."

So they give me the elaborate instructions, but I've done the breathalyser before. Down in Morgantown, they don't waste time. They just have you sit in your car and take the breathalyser from the get-go. It's quite a time saver. I apparently fucked up the operations of the breathalyser too. His buddy yells, "YOU AIN'T BLOWIN' HARD ENOUGH!" I haven't had that sort of chastisement since I was selling nickel blowjobs down on the Rail Trail.

The officer was looking at the breathalyser with what could only be described as delighted anticipation. This asshole was just salivating over the idea of sending me to jail. He seemed crestfallen and amazed when he said, "You passed!!... How many did you say you had?"

Feeling a certain smug superiority now, I reiterated, "I told you... three or four. I'm a big guy. I can drink quite a bit." He had to let me go. But before I left, he asked, "Where you headed to?" I said, "Back home." Which was a lie. I was planning to head down to a bar downtown. I almost told him that (to be an even bigger smartass), but I thought better of it.

While the whole ordeal was kind of embarrassing (a lot of cars got to witness my fun test), I got a big kick out of actually beating the officers at their own game. It was nice to actually be innocent for a change. There have been a few times when I've driven my car when maybe it wasn't quite the best idea, but it's never been for a long distance. I think I'll have to be more careful in the future, since it's clear that the law enjoys fucking with me at sobriety checkpoints as well as speed traps. I did have the foresight to not have anything else to drink at the bar. I made it an early night. Proving one's own incompetence while soberly performing a sobriety test is a definite buzz kill.

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POLICE: 6 JP: 1

Building a Better Speed Trap

The following was sent to the English Department on Feb. 13:

"Starting today, Pennsylvania will launch a 30-day speeding ticket frenzy. The state estimates that 9 million dollars will be generated in speeding tickets. 1 million will go to pay state troopers' overtime. There will be 50 state troopers on duty at all times patrolling the 9 main intersections and highways... 5 mph above the limit can justify a ticket and every state trooper is supposed to pull a car over and write a ticket every 10 to 20 minutes. They have issued 30 brand new unmarked Dodge Charger Police cruisers and are bringing in all of their part timers on full time."

Well, I'm totally fucked. As if I wasn't a prime target for State Troopers BEFORE their little crackdown. How can they be required to ticket someone every 10 to 20 minutes? Isn't that like telling a beat cop that he or she has to shoot a perp every day?

The best part as that this is so obviously not for the safety of the people. They seem to be pretty up front about the fact that they're doing it for the money. If they actually cared about the safety of motorists, they'd initiate a long-term plan for eliminating speeding instead of coming up with a state trooper blitzkrieg.

And before you start harping, "Well you should slow down, asshole!" let me draw your attention to the "5mph over the limit can justify a ticket" line. Not a single one of you can tell me with a straight face that you've never gone five miles over the speed limit. Something about this just smells rotten to me.

And here's some more:
"Starting on August 15th, the price of a ticket for violation of PA Law 39:3-29 (failure to show your driver's license, registration, or insurance card at the time you are stopped) is going from $44.00 to $173.00. Please make sure your vehicles have the proper documents in them. If you jump in the car to run to the store and forget your wallet with your license in it and you are stopped.... Oh well... you just spent $173. And the fine for not having all three documents is $519!!!"

Doesn't this sound like something out of Nazi Germany or a movie set in the Soviet Union? How many times have you seen footage of people getting stopped by the police asking for papers? And didn't you always think to yourself, "Thank God they don't do that here in America!" Not anymore, friend. Better have your papers.

I know you all think I'm being melodramatic. Newcomers may want to check the following links:
JP Gets Raped
JP Gets Cocky
JP Gets Raped, Part Two
The Legal System Wipes Its Dick on JP's Teddy Bear
JP Finds Out That He Can Be Raped When He's Not Driving
The Police Give JP a Final "Fuck You" to Remember Them By

Needless to say, I'm a little jumpy when it comes to the traffic cops. This little speed smackdown is going to have me spending a lot more of my meager salary than I really had in mind. While it's always nice to know that my money is going to support local law enforcement, I somehow suspect that the nice policeman won't be thinking of me when he's enjoying the new plasma TV in the officer's lounge that I'm sure I'll be paying for.

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Speed Traps: Serving to make me a dangerously paranoid driver since 2002.

Karma's a Bitch, and God's an Asshole

"BWA HA HA!! What else can we do to JP? Let's blow up his tires!!"

Before I left Morgantown about two weeks ago, my car's battery died. It's like the electrical system farted and hiccuped at the same time, couldn't handle it, and gave up. Not eager to electrocute myself or blow up my car, I called AAA to handle the problem. A tow truck arrived that night with a man and his wife (I assume) inside. The man told me, "Yep, your battery's shot," and then informed me that their battery truck would arrive the next morning. Several beers, a night's sleep, and a hangover later, the battery truck guy runs some tests and surmises that "yep, it's your battery." More importantly, the man says that my alternator and starter are fine.

See my post from two months ago to learn more about how much I know about cars.

About a week later, my car's battery light turns on. I bring this to the attention of my dad, but a few days later the light turns on again, so I dismiss the problem.

Last night I was on my way to Pittsburgh for a night of drunken revelry when I saw that the light had come on again. At about this time I tell my friend that I'm convinced that there must be something wrong with the light. "After all," I crowed, pleased with myself that I remembered a few car terms, "the AAA guy said that my alternator and starter were fine!"

Karma has big ears and a helluva sense of humor.

After watching the Patriots game, the Pens game, the Penn State game, and the Pitt basketball game all at the same time and then spending about an hour trying to figure out why my friend's new HDTV wouldn't show anything in HD, we headed out to the bar. I was, by default as the only sober one, the DD.

My car made the trip to the bar just fine. But then after picking up my friend's girlfriend, my car started acting funny. Then "acting funny" became "a slow descent towards mechanical failure." First the headlights dimmed. Then my CD player lost power. Then the windshield wipers slowed to a crawl. My speedometer suddenly dropped to zero even as we traveled back to my friend's place.

It was actually kind of exciting. We were playing Beat the Clock with my car's battery. Every minute or two, some feature of my car would lose power. I was getting an object lesson in exactly what a car's battery controls. At one point, my friend Joe was getting excited and yelled out, "ONLY ONE MORE TURN ON YOUR LEFT!! PUT ON YOUR TURN SIGNAL DAMMIT!!" And I yelled back, "THERE IS NO TURN SIGNAL!!"

The car finally gave out about 30 yards from my friend's house. We were all disappointed, but we pushed the thing the rest of the way. My friends and family all agree that the problem is definitely my alternator... you know, that device that Slappy from AAA told me was working just fine. Maybe the guy was actually looking for AA and stumbled into the wrong job.

So my car still sits in front of Joe's house awaiting a new alternator. There was maybe three hours between the time I praised my sturdy alternator on my way there and when my car died.

I swear, I only believe in God when I think he's mocking me.

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JP's Car: Serving as a subject for countless blog posts since 2006.

I'm Getting Taken for a Ride

On Saturday I took my car in for its annual inspection. My 1999 Ford Escort (picture looks a lot like it, doesn't it?) may not be flashy or even big enough for giant ass, but it's a pretty reliable vehicle. I wasn't expecting any troubles, but I should have known better. My car failed the inspection.

I was in the mechanic's waiting room, which looked like a white trash version of a doctor's office. This was a Kittanning mechanic, so trucker magazines were littered all over the place while the LSU/Kentucky game played on an outdated TV. As you can imagine, I was bored (again, I'm not gay). I'd been here before, so I knew what to expect and came prepared. Nothing makes me fit in better at a car repair shop like reading Southern Reconstruction magazine articles.

The mechanic came in, glared at my copy of "The Goophered Grapevine," and then told me about the failings of my car. As usual, I had no idea what he was talking about:

"Well son, your trilithium resonator has been completely fried. Your flux capacitor is rusted through. I think you may need a new Heisenberg compensator, and your photonic resonance scanner is totally shot."

Really, the guy could tell me that I have too much caramel floating in my chocolate engine, and I'd probably buy it. I had remembered that he said something about cords being exposed on my tires. Well, my technologically feeble brain interpreted "cords" as "wires," so when I got home, my dad asked me what was wrong with the car, and I said, "Well, I guess there are some wires sticking out of my tires."

This is why I avoid heavy machinery regardless of whether I take cold medication.

Anyway, after the mechanic gave me his car diagnosis, I just stared at him blankly and said, "So what to do I do about all that?" He honestly said, "You fix it." Here's my sign. So I made a new appointment for today, and I guess it's going to be fixed by this afternoon. Otherwise I better start hitchhiking back to West Virginia.

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Car Mechanics - Taking advantage of the mechanically disadvantaged since 1914.

I Saw the Sign

Long-time readers are well aware of my troubles with velocity. Stories revolving around my speeding tickets dominate this blog. My most famous encounter was when I tried to fight a speeding ticket because there was no sign on the road where I was pulled over. I was going 40 in a 25 on a road that looked like it could handle a 40mph vehicle. More importantly, there were no speed limit signs along the stretch of road I was on. I tried to explain this to the pompous windbag identified as "The Prosecutor" (How dare he share a moniker with the likes of Jack McCoy), but he told me that roads in the town limits are assumed to be 25mph if there is no sign. I asked how I was supposed to know this. He said, "You should have asked someone."

Needless to say, I was annoyed. My annoyance grew when my roommate was stopped along the same stretch of road. He was going 45 in a 25. My roommate feigned ignorance by claiming that he didn't know what the speed limit was. This was, of course, a bald-faced lie. Keep in mind that he's my friend - meaning that he's heard me tell my tale more times than Catholics and football coaches say "hail mary!" But the police officer just lets him off with a warning. A WARNING!! The short brown man with a goatee gets off with a warning.... in WEST VIRGINIA!!

Well, three days later, I'm driving down this road again (why I don't avoid this path to class is beyond me) when I see not one, but TWO "Speed Limit 25" signs. Now either my roommate had a more profound effect upon the Morgantown traffic police than I ever could have imagined, or other people have used my particular defense before and the folks at the county courthouse are getting annoyed. Personally, I like to think that this is all because of me - they heard my defense eight months ago, and they just now got around to putting up the signs.

Whatever happened, it's a stupid speed limit for this particular road. It's technically within the Morgantown city limits, but the road resembles a country road with houses on it more than a city street. A speed limit of 35mph would be more reasonable, and I think the traffic cops know this. They want to catch people driving at a reasonable (but still illegal) rate. We high-velocity villains must be stopped.

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The West Virginia Department of Transportation - Providing closure for long-running blog posts since 2007.

Towed and Owned

I was up in Indiana, PA today. Kate and I decided to go for a walk in the park, but we wanted to stop at the dining hall first. So we're driving around looking for a spot with a meter with little success. A block away, we find a parking lot for a strip mall. I see a sign: "For customers only."

How in the world would all of these stores know where each driver went? Besides, we're only going to be inside for a half hour. A half hour, a bowl of gravy-smothered fries, and a Chicken Caesar wrap later, we return to my car.

It's not there.

First thought: I'm an idiot and parked somewhere else. No, I remember this sign.
Second thought: Someone stole my car. No, it's a piece of shit. Who would want it?

Then Kate realizes that my car must have been towed. So we wander around trying to find some information. We're absolutely baffled. How could they have towed my car so quickly? Did they beam it into space? Was my car something out of a Hitchcock film and just went batshit insane and killed pedestrians?

We get the number for the towing company that got the car. Apparently, the woman at a nearby store told us, someone actually watches people park and sees if they go into the businesses there. What kind of shit job is that?

So we're on our way to the towing place. I'm laughing. I think it's hilarious. This is just the icing on my car fine cake. Four speeding tickets and now my car has been towed. I'm glad the world has conspired to keep this evil car maniac in check.

We get to the towing place, and I'm in a good mood. Even when the woman behind the desk tells me that the fine is $100, I'm still chuckling. This obviously catches her attention. She tells me that most people are pissed when they come in. I tell her that I've been owned by the police over minor driving violations many times. I've always suspected that people were watching me. Now I have proof.

So we're talking to this woman at the towing place, and Kate says, "That must be a really boring job. Just sitting there all day watching for people to tow."

And a voice behind us says, "Yea, you guys just walked right past me!"

There he was - the little prick who towed my car. I could have punched him in the face. That might have been cathartic. But then I thought: this is good business. These are pro-active towing people. They don't wait for business to come to them. They go out and get it. I was sort of impressed. The watchman told me that he just sits in the corner deli all day drinking coffee as he waits for potential targets. The cynical nature of the man's job left me in awe. I'm even a bit jealous.

So now I don't just have to be paranoid when I'm driving; I can be paranoid when I'm parking too.

Total amount of money spent on fines so far in my life: appx. $600.

The Agony of Defeat

Long time followers (and anyone within earshot when the subject of the police is brought up) will know that I've got a penchant for getting speeding tickets. Well, my third ticket was bullshit. I was nailed going 40mph in a 25mph zone. The catch was that the road did not have a speed limit sign on it.

I decided to plead not guilty.

I lost before I even got to my hearing.

I left early this morning because the powers that be saw fit to schedule the hearing for today, seven days after I left Morgantown; therefore, I had to drive the whole way back for this shit.

Well I get to the county courtroom, and I do get a bit of perk. I get to see the lowlifes and degenerates of Morgantown. And here I thought the regular hill folk were strange enough.

Anyway, a man who identified himself only as "The Prosecutor" calls my name and takes me into a separate room. "The Prosecutor" looks like Tony Soprano and talks like him too. I'm unsettled. He tells me that I cannot win my case because there is a law that states that the speed limit on any road in town is automatically 25mph unless otherwise posted.

Now for you longtime readers, this may sound familiar. Here is an excerpt from my October 2006 blog post titled "I Fought the Law and the Law Won":

"Apparently, municipalities will have an 'unwritten speed limit' rule written into the law. The speed limit is automatically whatever the city council deems safe in the absence of marked signs. This is some shady shit right there."

When I first stumbled across this little tidbit a few months ago, I didn't believe it. I thought it was just some goofy rumor. I mean, how could such a thing be legal? The government can just make up laws and then not tell the citizens what they are and then expect them to follow them?

Sure what the hell!

I guess the old saying "Ignorance of the law is no excuse" is taken quite literally in traffic court.

Well "The Prosecutor" feels bad for me, so he reduces the fine to $1.00. I was really happy.... until he told me that the court costs were $165.50.

That made me feel like the biggest chump on the planet. My original ticket was $170. Now I have to pay $166.50 plus the money I already spent in gas to make that 4 hour round trip.

I don't care what anyone tells you: no good comes from fighting a speeding ticket. Just accept that the cops are going to rape you. Bend over, spread your legs, and take it like a man.

Bottom line: I got owned.

I Fight Authority, Authority Always Wins

The Greeks saw hubris as the ultimate character flaw. That's why in most Greek tragedies, the hero loses as a result of overconfidence. In Christian mythology, pride is one of the seven deadly sins. A common proverb in the English language is "pride always comes before the fall."

Well, I fell like a prom dress at midnight.

I was driving to the IHOP tonight (the excitement that is my life), and I had to pick up Vivek. I get to his house, and the instant I step out of the car, I see that a sherriff's car is right behind me. Now, given the shady area of town that Vivek lives in, I could have assumed that he was there for any number of reasons, but I knew better. I knew that fate was catching up with me.

See, you can't just take on the law and expect everything to work out for the best. Anyone who's been reading this blog knows that I'm going to fight my third speeding ticket. I was feeling really confident about the whole thing too. I thought I was cock of the walk; strutting around, fluffing my plumage and such. The law had nothing on me!! I was invincible.

Until I got nabbed going 50 in a 35. Once more unto the lame speeding tickets, dear friends. This is the third time in a row that I've gotten pulled over for going 15mph over the speed limit, and it's my fourth ticket overall. I never speed on purpose, but somehow it just happens. Am I really the fastest motherfucker in Morgantown? Is my putzy little Escort really tearing up the roadways more than any other vehicle? How can I get two speeding tickets in the span of a month?

I know what you're thinking: Slow down assface! That's a valid assertion, but I'd like to offer a theory. There are no flat roads in Morgantown. Most roads are inclined at 45 degrees or more. These are some steep roads, and that steepness keeps accelerating my car without me realizing it. The last speeding ticket was right after a hill as well. No fool I. These cops are doing this on purpose. They know this as well as I do.

I brought some of this on myself of course. It probably didn't help that I had Officer Jed Clampett pull me over. He seriously got out of his police truck (not car), spit out his chewing tobacco, and said, "Where y'all in a hurry to, sonny?" Since I was parked at Vivek's house, I told him "Visiting a friend." He said, "Who's your friend?" And I said, "Vivek."

Now that's probably where I screwed up again. I should have said, "Bill Johnson," "Dick Goodhart," or "Bob Everyman." A name like "Vivek" certainly won't win me any favors with our tobacky-loving Appalachian friend. At least Vivek stayed inside. I'd probably be in Guantanamo by now if he came out.

Interestingly enough, I got another "I'll cut you a break" cop. He put down 45 in a 35 instead of 50. There's no way I can fight this one. This was a legitimate catch on their part, but I still don't get it. There are hundreds of underage college students drinking on High Street, vandals spraypainting everything they can find, and a sign thief on the loose (which is great, because he probably took the sign on the road I had to videotape). Yet these police have nothing better to do than constantly watch "The Speed Demon" as he commits his random acts of high velocity villainy across Monongalia County.

The Tally So Far
Police: 4 - Justin: 0

I'm Fighting the Law and I'm Going to Kick Its Ass

Okay, I was all set to plead guilty to my speeding ticket (see previous blog). I went to the county magistrate's office all ready to pay whatever was needed for going 29 in a 25. That was until the secretary told me that the fine is $170.00!!! What kind of clusterfuck law enforcement is this town running?? So I decided to contest my ticket. The secretary told me that I'd have nothing to lose but my time.

Well there's nothing I do better than wasting time. These people have no idea what they're up against. If I had any sense, I'd go pay this damn ticket and get it over with. Maybe it's my affinity for Law & Order. This is my chance to be Jack McCoy and pull some clever legal maneuvers. I can't help it.

The judge (or whatever she was) didn't seem to indicate that there was any kind of standard accepted speed limit, so maybe Morgantown doesn't have one. Both the judge and the secretary think I have a good argument if I can prove it.

The judge suggested that I take a video camera along the road to film the proof that there's no signage. This sounds like courtroom entertainment waiting to happen. These people don't have anything exciting going on. I mean they do speeding tickets every day. Just because my video has to be informative doesn't mean that it can't also be entertaining. Justice may be blind, but cripples have a sense of humor too.

So I'll have a court date sometime in December or something. I'm really looking forward to it actually. I apparently have absolutely nothing to lose. Apparently, if I lose my court case, the maximum fine I can be given is $100.00. I get 70 bucks knocked off just for saying I'm innocent!!!

Isn't America great?

I Fought The Law and the Law Won

An alternative title that I was considering for this post was "Third Time's a Charm." I was travelling into downtown Morgantown last Friday night on a road that I literally travel EVERY DAY. Perhaps I'm cursed (and that may be a serious consideration... but that's another story), but as soon as I got into the Morgantown city limits, I was pulled over by the police.

Long-term friends of mine are probably aware that I have been pulled over by the police twice before - both times for speeding. This time was no different. Chief Wiggum caught me going 42 in a 25. On the plus side, he told me he was going to "cut me some slack" by putting "29 in a 25" on my ticket. Why couldn't he save me a lot of trouble and just tear up the ticket? I'll tell you why - because Officer Barbrady probably checked his records in the car and found out that I've already got two speeding tickets.

Here's a little history. My first speeding ticket was completely ridiculous. I was going 35mph in a 25 zone on my way to school. Officer Ziggo (I'll forever remember that name) pulled me over. Apparently, the neighbors had complained about speeders on this lovely stretch of road in the peaceful hamlet of Kittanning. I have literally seen people going 55 on this road. I've been PASSED (quite illegally) on that street. But Ziggo decided to pull me over to teach me a lesson - a $110.00 lesson apparently.

Well my second speeding ticket was pretty legit. I wasn't paying attention and I got nailed going 72 in a 55. That's pretty fast. I grant that. One wonders, however, if I would have gotten off with just a warning if I didn't have a prior speeding ticket.

That leads to the latest ticket. Regardless of why the cop gave me the ticket, I now have it, and I have to deal with it. On my way into school on Monday (going a carefully regulated 25mph I might add) I happened to notice that NOWHERE on that road is the speed limit posted.

I was eccstatic! I was going to fight the law!! Rage against the machine!! How could I get a speeding ticket if I couldn't possibly have known the speed.

That is until I looked some stuff up on the Internet. Apparently, municipalities will have an "unwritten speed limit" rule written into the law. The speed limit is automatically whatever the city council deems safe in the absence of marked signs. That is some shady shit right there!

I thought I still might have had a chance given that Officer "I'll cut you some slack" wrote 29mph on my ticket. The Internet then informed me that officers will still note the actual speed in their records - probably to guard against irate citizens (such as myself) who have a vendetta against local law enforcement.

So before I even had a chance, the law already won the battle.

Maybe if I had shown off a little skin I might have gotten a break. This is a pretty liberal town. The cop might swing that way....