girl gone bad. part one.

I recently had my first brush with the law. Well I mean, not really my FIRST brush with the law, but basically my first brush with the law since I stopped peeing all willy-nilly in public and shouting at strangers when I'm drunk and driving my car too fast. Not at the same time. I'm an idiot, but not the drunk driving kind. That shit is seriously idiotic. I live in Montana now, the speed limit is like 75, I really don't need to go faster than that. Plus my car REALLY doesn't like being pushed faster than that. I don't like to test her, she's getting old and rickety. 

Anyway, this particular brush with the law occurred one morning as I'm crossing the bridge over the Clark Fork River, which bisects Missoula. It's a very popular bridge, and I have hella bad luck with it. I've even run out of gas on it before. I loathe the thing. Anyway, I'm all hungover and trying to make it to the gas station AND make it to work on time AND talk to my friend Erin about my epic previous evening. So I'm not really paying attention to my speedometer. I roll into the gas station, totally oblivious, and when I look up, I've got Johnny Fucking Law behind me with his lights flashing like a bad disco party. 

And I'm like "Shit," because obviously. 

So Johnny saunters up to my window, which is parked at a gas pump at this point and requests the usual. So I grab my license no problem and then I open my glove box to grab my insurance card and registration.... and all I have in there is like an entire deck of Cranium playing cards. I'm not kidding. Cranium. What the fucking fuck, right? 

Anyway, I direct my attention back at the officer and I'm all apologetic and kind of panicking because I honestly have no idea what happens to people who don't have that shit with them and on the ready. I've never to my knowledge not had this shit on the ready, except now I realize I haven't had it for at least ten months, so that's responsible of me. 

Anyway, Johnny takes my ID and tells me I can go ahead and pump gas while he runs my plates. Which I realize as he's walking back to his motorcycle are FUCKING EXPIRED. In this moment I begin to have an existential CRISIS because what the hell is wrong with me? My new plate, that my father so kindly renewed for me, is sitting on the table in my fucking breakfast nook with all my unopened bills and other important documents that I've chosen to ignore up to this point. 

I am officially failing at being an adult. FAILING. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. 

Whatever. 

So Johnny Law heads back up to my window and at this point I'm SUPER glad I showered that morning and didn't reek of booze for this chance encounter with law enforcement. He explains to me that I was going 37 miles an hour in a 25 zone on the bridge, which is super uncool.  He also tells me that he's just giving me a warning for the registration being expired and for not having my insurance card handy.

So I'm like thank jeebus, whew, so glad I'm not getting carted off to jail this morning. What a relief, I am not even mad about the ticket, I'm just glad they don't throw you in jail these days for failing to be an adult at age 26. 

And then I start my car and go on my merry way to work. 

BUT WAIT. 

This is the part where I reveal just HOW FAR behind the learning curve I actually am, you guys. 

Because in glorious Montana, you only get two weeks to get your shit together and pay your tickets. Since I'm me though, I don't even look at the damn thing again for THREE WEEKS. 

Whoopsie pooooooopsies. 

I realize that little gem of knowledge and I'm once again like, "Shit." So I decide to walk my happy ass right down to the municipal office, which I found out is where you pay tickets thanks to google, and I prepare to just handle this in person. You know, be like "I just realized this is a teensy bit overdue so I just stopped by in person to take care of it to prove I'm really sorry and appeal to your soft side with my sad apologetic look, kthanksbye." And then just bounce. 

But when I get there, a very curt woman who someone has unfortunately placed in a position of some moderate amount of power just looks sourly at the insurance card I place in her grabby little hands and shakes her head. She's really hung up on the fact that there is no date provided on my insurance card. And I'm like "What do you want me to do, this is what they sent me in my packet? That's the only fucking card I have, lady." Only without the curse words or attitude. And then I offer to CALL MY AGENT and have them fax over a letter of proof of insurance since my card is apparently inadequate. 

But no. Bridge troll with too much power decides she doesn't want to deal with me. So she says "I'm just going to send you in to talk to the judge. Courtroom two around the corner."

At this point, I am actually dumbfounded. 

I am not a criminal. I don't fucking stand in front of judges and wait to be bitch slapped by the long arm of the law. I'm just a simple girl for the Midwest who says 'Yes, Sir" to authority figures and has the decency to look away when I roll my eyes at them. I don't belong in here with these petty criminals at municipal court! This is an abomination!

So I walk in and take my seat and there are only like three people in front of my waiting for their judgement to be handed down, which is nice. But it also allows my some time to develop a serious sweat problem, a serious tremble, and some seriously clammy hands. 

To be continued....