Smooth Criminal

My biggest, deepest, darkest shame was laid open for anyone driving down Beard Road this Saturday to see… I, Laura Beth Duarte, have been driving without a license for since 1993.

WHAAAAATTTTT you say?

How could one a hefty as I travel so stealthily throughout Northern California’s highways without pause? Well… it wasn’t that easy. I always looked over my shoulder and never went above 55, even when they raised the speed limit. Plus, the few times I was stopped, my fear of incarceration caused me to shit myself in a very tearful way that usually got me just a warning.

Not this weekend. This weekend I committed the dreaded triple threat of vehicular f*ck up. I was on my way to work while having a wicked fight with RD on the phone and as I was driving down Main Street with its fifty million stop signs, I concentrated more on telling him where to stick it than on the two wee stop signs I glided blissfully through.

This did not impress the police officer parked on Main and Pueblo. As I was screamed into the phone, it finally dawned on me there were lights flashing behind me. Somehow I just new I was entering brand spanking new territory. How did I know this? Wellllll… not only was I driving without a license but RD was leaving for the DMV that morning with the paperwork necessary to get the tags for both vehicles. That paperwork included my proof of insurance.

So lets recap, what did Mrs. Duarte NOT have on her person when pulled over by one Napa’s finest?

1. Her license.  The photo on the one she does have is hilarious since it is conspicuously missing several chins.
2. Her proof of insurance. Although Mrs. Duarte was insured, she was informed it does not count if you do not have that little “proof of” paper.
3. Her vehicle registration. What did not help is that it was 6 months overdue since Mrs. Duarte is obviously more afraid of anything DMV than she is of a dentist wielding drills and those mouth-holder-opener things.

What can I say? The guy came and got what little stuff I had as I did my best to smile politely without throwing up. He disappeared into his car for 27 minutes while I sat quietly sipping my Starbucks and watching all the neighbors come out of their houses to gape at the big big lady in her craptastic van being made to wait for 20 years by the cop.

I knew the jig was up when another police car rolled up as Mr. Take-No-Shit came and asked me to step out of the van. At this point, every single Cops episode I’ve ever seen flashed across my mind. Running was out of the question since I was on crutches, but punching him did cross my mind as the Red Rage of Menses clouded my thoughts while he informed me the van was being impounded.

Very calmly, I asked him if I could clean out our stuff and he said I could after he checked the van for drugs or weapons. I laughed at this. It took him another 10 minutes to root through the van before allowing me to collect the mountains of stuff the kids managed to store by their seats. His face dropped when I opened up the back and pulled out my wheel chair, and he proceeded to ask me about 20 times if he could give me a ride somewhere - I said no every time. Finally, I told him very quietly “look dude, this is my mess and I have to take care of it, I don’t want you to give me a ride so stop asking me”.

At this point, my phone rang and it was RD. I couldn’t speak so I handed the phone to the cop and he talked to RD for a while, I even heard him tell RD what street we were on and then he paused and said “I don’t get the impression that she’s going to wait for you though”.

After roughly 100 years, I finally had everything I could carry so I handed him the key and clomped off as gracefully as I could with 3 bags full of crap balanced on a Big Mama wheelchair. I made it about ½ a mile before RD got to me and ran over with a look that said “stop messing around and get your crippled ass in the car” so I did.

What is the moral of the story? RD got the tags this morning and had them sign off on the ticket. I still have to marshal up the courage to take my ass down to the courthouse to wrangle some way to get my license out of hock - and then I have the fabulous joy of attending my court date at the end of February. Although they’re supposed to keep the van for 30 days, since it’s the only vehicle we own that I can drive, we have to call in for a “phone hearing” and get it out early (after we pay whatever giganticus fee they want us to pay).

As for me, I’m not getting behind another wheel until I’m legally allowed to do so... somehow jail just doesn’t hold the zesty appeal one thinks it would.

Comments

[matty]

dude that was hilarious!

[Laura B]

You know your Sissy is just keepin' it real, yo.

[Jennel]

So why don't you have you license in the first place? You know I live like two blocks from there.. What the hell, why didn't you come and see me???