This is one trip I was really looking forward to. Traveling in the Arizona desert is the highlight of being a traveling sales-person. The miles upon miles of nothing but miles and how it changes as the sun gets high in the sky, and then turns from golden to red to violet at dusk. No matter what the weather is, Arizona highways are always an adventure sprinkled with beauty and peace. One can hear one’s mind creating passages and memories filled with unspoken words, not that I don’t occasionally talk to myself, and then answer.
What a bargain. I was able to get a round trip flight to Phoenix for the paltry sum of $25 with a confirmed reservation for a rental car; after deplaning and running to the rental car agency, discovered that the only car available was a late model Blue Camaro Z. Well, I said to myself, someone has to drive this little devil and it might as well be me.
My first appointment the next morning was about 150 miles toward the mountains to visit with a school superintendent. The road was fine on the way up, the morning cool and I arrived with plenty of time for coffee and a review of the conditions at the school. After the meeting I departed back to Phoenix.
The trip down the mountain was exhilarating. Never saw the police officer parked on the side of the road with his ray gun pointed at me, until after I passed him. He never moved, so I thought he didn’t’ clock me. But, surprise; down the hill was another patrolman receiving a call from this officer to be on the lookout for me and my blue Camaro. He stopped me, asked me how fast I was going and I surrendered. Fast car, beautiful day, gorgeous officer. Guilty on all counts. Tell that to the judge. Got a ticket.
On the appointed day to appear in court, I trek to the county court house to see how to take care of the ticket. I know, I’ll tell the judge I was high on mountain air and didn’t see the speedometer rise. I’ll throw myself on the mercy of the court.
Hold your thoughts. It’s not a him, it’s a her. Nothing worse than I woman judge, I hear.
Now, this is not a regular court, the population in this town is so small, instead of a regular court there is a room at the back of the counter where the judge hears the poor innocent people run along with their mouth and try to get out of paying a fine.
She seems nice, she’ll understand; mostly because we are so similar in age, background and we identify with one another. Miracles do happen. We talk about the beauty of the land, the new Camaro, the wind at the window as I went down the mountain and pled guilty on all counts; I get a $20 fine and no points against my license.
The judge makes sure I understand the fine of $20 is because I pleaded guilty. She had to do something about it. I admitted my guilt. Had I said “innocent, your Honor,” I would have gotten away without paying the $20 fine. Somehow this doesn’t make sense. Is this justice, I ask. Let me get this straight: If I lie about being guilty I don’t pay. If I tell the truth, I pay. Maybe I’m out of step with the justice system.