It appears I am a wanted felon. OK, not a felon, just a wanted infraction flaunter.
There’s something very exotic and also very terrifying about knowing there may be a warrant with your name on it. Just a bench warrant, but still.
I know law enforcement doesn’t like to hear “It wasn’t my fault,” but it wasn’t my fault. At least, I don’t think so.
So we’ve already discussed the citation I got when picking my son up at the airport in mid-August. I shoved the copy the policewoman gave me in my wallet and put it out of my mind.
I have been expecting that official: “You are such a lousy driver,” notice in the mail. I waited and I waited, not knowing how long it takes the San Diego Police to knock out paperwork. As mid-October arrived, I realized that envelope never arrived.
Of course, there is the way-outside chance that I unwittingly tossed it with my daily ration of junk mail, but I don’t think so. Mail with return addresses from government agencies, especially courts, tend to grab my attention.
So I pulled out the original, and to my horror, discovered that it should have been dealt with by Sept. 23. Oops.
In a mild panic, I called the number given and the recording said to take care of this ticket I will need the information mailed to me. Back to square one.
But my real dilemma is this — What if the paperwork somehow just got lost between Officer Dalinda’s hands and the maw of the law enforcement system? What if she actually had a fit of conscience after leaving me crying on my steering wheel? Hey, it could happen.
If I call and say, “Hey! Where’s my ticket?” they are bound to dig something up. But if I don’t? You can see why I am uncertain how to proceed. Somehow I need to determine if the ticket is actually on my record without raising further unwanted attention. Yeah, yeah. Do the right thing. I might, but calling to beg them to raise my insurance, definitely gives me pause. And if you rat me out, I’ll find you.
Jean Gillette is a freelance writer and may soon be on the lam. Contact her at email@example.com.