OK, today was a short day in court for me, the shortest so far, but I learned something very interesting in regards to our tactics.
I was scheduled to show up in court at 8:30 in the morning. Everyone who has ever gone to court knows this is bullshit. Court doesn’t start until the judge shows up, and the judge is always late. What happens if you and I are late for work? We’re reprimanded, or maybe our pay is docked, or worse, maybe we’re fired. The judge operates on DGT, or Daniel Guerin Time.
Regardless, I’m always there early. I want to get a good seat, because court is actually kind of fun, at least if someone is willing to fight. All the losers who plead guilty are boring as fuck. They go like clockwork, and the scripts are always the same. It’s a shame there are so many of them.
I didn’t get the chance to find out which cases were going to be fun or not. As soon as Earl showed up, he waved me outside and explained exactly what we were going to do today. Rather than begin my trial, we were going to ask for another date.
I didn’t have to ask why, but he graciously explained anyway, mostly for my grandfather’s benefit. The best tactic in my case, he told us, would be to keep asking for new dates. Best case scenario: we keep getting new dates, and during this time, the appeal might work out in my favor. If I get my appeal, and the new judge overturns dickhead’s decision, then my trial becomes unnecessary. Big smiles all around.
Worst case scenario: the judge turns us down, and we begin the trial anyway. Again, it all comes down to a roll of the dice. My attorneys are very good at their jobs. I trust them implicitly. If they think this thing has a chance, I’m with them. I gave my OK immediately.
We went back in, and I was the next case called before the judge. Earl asked for a new date, and the judge nodded and said September 21. Thank-yous were given, and Earl asked me to wait outside for him.
I walked out the court’s doors, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. This is the shortest amount of time I’ve ever been in those considerably unhallowed halls.
Outside, I gave Earl an envelope with $500 in it, and he gave me a receipt. There were additional costs on my bill, mostly for various transcriptions. I noticed that there was a fee for $150 for submitting my appeal. If that was all it was going to cost me, why not roll the dice?
I now have about $440 left to pay my attorneys, and by the next time I see them, it will probably be more, but if they can get me out of this mess, it will be worth every penny. Until next time . . . .
On a related note, when I got home and got out of my hideously hot suit, I noticed that my fly was open. How long had it been like this? I cast my mind back, trying to remember the last time I’d opened my pants.
Sadly, I thought the last time had been when I took a piss before heading out to court. This means that every moment I spent inside the court, my fly was open. How many people had noticed? Had the judge noticed? This is horrible! I was wearing flimsy boxers beneath. What if my johnson had decided to make an appearance?
No, someone would have noticed, if that were the case. I decided to forget about the whole thing . . . .
TO BE CONTINUED ON MONDAY!
Friday, December 9, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
THE DUI DIARY: Chapter Ten
[EDITOR’S NOTE: This is a very, very angry chapter of THE DUI DIARY. It was also a very, very drunken chapter, as I was hammered out of my mind while writing it. At the same time, I’d like to draw your attention to the fact that I still managed to do my homework, quoting actual members of MADD. While this rant may sound crazy, considering how many times I wished gang-rape on public figures, it still makes sense. Read at your own peril.]
Let’s talk about the BAIID. I was willing to play the State of Illinois’s silly little game. I understand rental fees and maintenance fees and such, but they broke my cardinal rule. They fucked with my money. And now, I’m through with them. This will, of course, mean that I won’t be able to drive until June 2010, but that’s OK. I will never pay the State of Illinois money that it doesn’t deserve.
Maybe I should explain why I want Jesse White to be gang raped by Ron Jeremy, Lexington Steele, Peter North, and a resurrected John Holmes (complete with AIDS). Perhaps saying that I want Judge Guerin (and I WILL mention his name, because he is a public figure) to have his genitals gnawed away by rabid bats would seem a bit rash at this point. Maybe, just maybe, saying that I want everyone in MADD to be drawn and quartered in a salt pit would be a bit excessive right now. Let me tell you about what I received in the mail yesterday.
If you’ll remember from the last time, I was willing to get that stupid BAIID thing on my car. Not because I’m guilty, but because I’m sick and tired of people driving me around. After what Jesse White’s office sent me yesterday, I can safely say that I’m happy having others drive me around. Of course, I reimburse them somehow. Gas money, pizzas, Red Bulls, etc.
The State of Illinois is packed with fascists, and you will understand my position soon. I received a document that would have been right at home in Stalin’s Russia. Allow me to elucidate.
Do you remember last time? When Earl said that the payment would be about $200? Well, he must not have taken into consideration what Jesse White would request of me. Before I can get the BAIID installed, they want me to pay the maintenance fees upfront.
Yes, on Jesse White’s letter, it asked me to pay it all up front at $110 a month. Wait! There’s a problem. Since things have run late for me, I’m only on TEN months, not eleven. Therefore, the maintenance fees should be $220 short. But it doesn’t matter. It’s what Jesse White says it is. All 12 months, unconditional and non-negotiable. Remember my appeal? If my appeal is successful, I would NOT get that money back. It’s non-refundable, according to White’s letter to me.
FUCK THAT.
In addition to this, White has the GALL to ask me for a permit fee for this BAIID. Granted, it’s only $8, but still, it sounds like an attempt to squeeze just a little bit more money out of me. It’s fucking insulting. Just imagine if you went out to dinner at an expensive place, and the restaurant asked you to supply an additional fee, just for the privilege of allowing you to eat at their establishment. Am I alone in thinking that this is bullshit? I doubt it. Do you think I’m lying? If I don’t pay $338 for the BAIID IN ADVANCE, I don’t get to have it.
Again, FUCK THAT!
But let’s move on. I have too much bile in me to waste on Jesse White right now. Sure, his tumblers were cute back in the day. But FUCK HIM. He’s sold out. He’s no longer concerned with helping the little people out. He’s out for NUMBER ONE now. Fuck him in his tender asshole.
Let’s go over the points in the BAIID letter I just got. I won’t go over every point, but I will go over everything I find objection to.
Like point four. It asks that I bring my car in for examination after the BAIID machine asks me to do so within five working days. First of all, what if I can’t do so? I have a job. I’m a useful member of society. I can’t be at their beck and call. Well, if I don’t make it, I will have my suspension extended, which will cost me $330 additional. FUCK THAT.
Or how about point seven? If I fail my BAIID blow, for a variety of reasons, I need to bring my car in for a check up. That might sound reasonable at first, but think about it. Excessive amounts of mouth wash or soda will set off your BAIID. Doesn’t that sound fucked up to you? Every time you set it off because of mouth wash or soda or bread (yes, bread will do it, too), you have to apologize to the State of Illinois? NO! If you agree to this, you have been brainwashed by fearmongers. You are a fool.
Think about point nine for a second. If my suspension is extended three times, my car can be IMPOUNDED for 30 days at my expense. Followed by point 10: if my suspension is extended four times, my car can be seized and sold at an auction. FUCK YOU, JESSE WHITE! FUCK YOU! YOU THINK YOU’RE IMMUNE TO OUR HATRED BECAUSE YOU HAVE TUMBLERS?! YOU SUCK, AND SO DO EVERY ONE OF THE PEOPLE YOU WORK WITH!
It gets worse. If I’m caught breaking ANY other law (even non-traffic laws), I can have my suspension extended. How the fuck does this make sense? Is the State of Illinois populated by asylum escapees? Really? Fuck Pat Quinn and his predecessor. Hook ‘em up to perpetual assfucking machines. The studded ones.
Feast your eyes on point 14. If I drive a vehicle without a BAIID on it, I can be put in jail for anywhere between 30 days to 3 years, and I will have to pay a fine up to $25,000. Did I kill anyone? Did I fuck your mother? Did I rape your daughter or your wife? No, I operated a vehicle while slightly intoxicated. I would have made it home fine, if not for your unconstitutional roadblock stop. I broke no moving laws. You are a fascist, and you want money from me. Cut your own dick off and stick it in your own asshole, OK? That would make me happy.
My grandfather took one look at this document, and he said, “What the fuck country do we live in? When did we bring Hitler back to life?” In his day, do you know what they did with drunk drivers? They slapped them on the wrist and drove them home. At worst, you wound up in the drunk tank for the evening. When you were sober, they sent you home. I don’t see what was wrong with that.
Seriously, if you were pulled over because you were swerving across lanes or going through stop lights, you deserve a DUI. If you were acting like a responsible driver, like me, you shouldn’t have to deal with this Nazi bullshit. This is a persecution the world has not seen since Jesus was crucified. In fact, the Romans who beat and whipped Jesus through the streets, as seen in Mel Gibson’s THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST, were a lot more forgiving than the State of Illinois.
You think I’m exaggerating? The Chicago Tribune recently published a falsified article to show that the BAIID isn’t really that bad. It said that to get it installed, it would only cost $100 to get it installed and $110 to have it monitored and serviced every month. But they don’t mention that everything must be paid up front. This is an old journalist trick to fool readers into being on the writer’s side. Give ‘em some of the truth, but leave out a few details. Surprised? Remember, journalism isn’t about truth, it’s about a business. If you don’t toe the line at your respective paper, then you get fired.
Do you know who got this law passed? MADD did the trick. If they had their way, DUI suspects (not those who have been convicted, but SUSPECTS) would all be castrated and have the word “LOSER” tattooed on our foreheads. They believe anyone who would drink and drive should be jailed and probably waterboarded. Guess what? Most people drive impaired at some point in our lives. The only way to stop this is to OUTLAW DRINKING. And that really worked out the last time we tried that. I’m sick and tired of bullshit. If you think ingesting a particular substance is wrong, you should ban it, right? But we don’t. Why? Because all of the really good civilizations on this planet were founded on BOOZE. That’s right. Name ONE country that wasn’t founded by drunkards. Go ahead. You can’t. It’s impossible. Philosophers are all hardcore drinkers. Or they’re opium fiends. Or they smoke weed. Why? Because altered states help you see through the bullshit to the truth of the universe. If you can’t see through it all, YOU ARE NOT HUMAN. You’re a douchebag who thinks he knows what he’s talking about. [It should be mentioned here that the inebriated me is not talking about calling non-drug users douchebags. What he’s suggesting is that people who can’t see through the bullshit our universe is made of tend to be douchebags who talk a lot and don’t know how it really is. Just thought I’d clarify, as drunk me isn’t being very clear.]
Some of us can handle drinking .08. In fact, I know FOR SURE I can drive on .2 successfully. It’s all relative. If you can’t handle it, you don’t belong on the road. You belong in jail, where you will be raped repeatedly by a guy named Otis with tats on his arms proving conclusively, in Braille and expressionist art, that you are his bitch.
BAC is not a reliable method of judging how drunk someone is. If you are breaking moving laws, you should be pulled over and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. If you can handle yourself while drunk, you should not be subjected to these horribly unconstitutional safety roadblock checks.
Then, why would the BAIID be such a successful campaign? I hear you ask. Actually, it’s not as successful as the State of Illinois would have you believe. Of all those accused of DUI in this state, guess how many have the BAIID installed on their cars. Of 50,000 people a year, only 25,000 get it. Even though only 40,000 are first time offenders (like me), most decide to eat the suspension. Why? I can only give my reason for skipping it: I refuse to give the State of Illinois money it doesn’t deserve. Still, this is NOT making money for Pat Quinn (even though it’s supposed to be a money making scheme). The executive director of Illinois Mothers Against Drunk Driving, Susan McKeigue, can’t even admit to this. She said recently that, “It could go better, but it’s going well.” Really? When only 25,000 people out of 50,000 go for the hideously illegal BAIID, things are going well? That’s only a two-to-one proposition. That will net you the least amount of money on any proposition. How can that be considered a winning situation?
Think about this: how many people have you ever seen with a BAIID on their cars? I’ve driven all over this state, mostly for the City of Elmhurst four years ago, and I have NEVER EVER seen a BAIID on ANYONE’S car. Even now, driving 16 miles to work and 16 miles back from work EVERY DAY, I have never seen a BAIID. Why? I live pretty fucking close to Chicago. If there were BAIID’s out on the road, I would have seen them, right? At least one, right? I haven’t. What does that tell me? NO ONE GETS THIS FUCKING THING. I saw a picture of a guy in the Trib getting it installed on his car, but for all I know, it was a staged photo. I challenge you to show me ONE person in the State of Illinois who has this thing on their car. I know you guys are all hardcore drinkers (well, mostly). I’m willing to believe that NONE of you knows someone in this situation. Am I wrong? Let me know, and I’ll correct myself immediately.
The only way to stop drunk driving is to outlaw booze entirely, and that has never successfully worked in history. Honestly, if it was legal, I’d smoke weed all the time. It’s not harmful, and it doesn’t cause permanent injury to the user. Hell, I’d trip my ass off on shrooms all the time. I find that such excursions into the mental realm are always rewarding. But booze is sanctioned by the US government. If you want to regulate this, you’re saying the US government is wrong. Good luck telling Obama that he’s a fool. After everything you people have said about his health care plan, he’s used to your Nazi gibberish.
Stop persecuting me because I love whiskey! How would you like it if I started giving you shit for liking salads, for example? I hate salads. You don’t see me trying to make salads illegal, do you?
Think twice before calling me a criminal. The hangman comes for everyone, eventually.
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!
Let’s talk about the BAIID. I was willing to play the State of Illinois’s silly little game. I understand rental fees and maintenance fees and such, but they broke my cardinal rule. They fucked with my money. And now, I’m through with them. This will, of course, mean that I won’t be able to drive until June 2010, but that’s OK. I will never pay the State of Illinois money that it doesn’t deserve.
Maybe I should explain why I want Jesse White to be gang raped by Ron Jeremy, Lexington Steele, Peter North, and a resurrected John Holmes (complete with AIDS). Perhaps saying that I want Judge Guerin (and I WILL mention his name, because he is a public figure) to have his genitals gnawed away by rabid bats would seem a bit rash at this point. Maybe, just maybe, saying that I want everyone in MADD to be drawn and quartered in a salt pit would be a bit excessive right now. Let me tell you about what I received in the mail yesterday.
If you’ll remember from the last time, I was willing to get that stupid BAIID thing on my car. Not because I’m guilty, but because I’m sick and tired of people driving me around. After what Jesse White’s office sent me yesterday, I can safely say that I’m happy having others drive me around. Of course, I reimburse them somehow. Gas money, pizzas, Red Bulls, etc.
The State of Illinois is packed with fascists, and you will understand my position soon. I received a document that would have been right at home in Stalin’s Russia. Allow me to elucidate.
Do you remember last time? When Earl said that the payment would be about $200? Well, he must not have taken into consideration what Jesse White would request of me. Before I can get the BAIID installed, they want me to pay the maintenance fees upfront.
Yes, on Jesse White’s letter, it asked me to pay it all up front at $110 a month. Wait! There’s a problem. Since things have run late for me, I’m only on TEN months, not eleven. Therefore, the maintenance fees should be $220 short. But it doesn’t matter. It’s what Jesse White says it is. All 12 months, unconditional and non-negotiable. Remember my appeal? If my appeal is successful, I would NOT get that money back. It’s non-refundable, according to White’s letter to me.
FUCK THAT.
In addition to this, White has the GALL to ask me for a permit fee for this BAIID. Granted, it’s only $8, but still, it sounds like an attempt to squeeze just a little bit more money out of me. It’s fucking insulting. Just imagine if you went out to dinner at an expensive place, and the restaurant asked you to supply an additional fee, just for the privilege of allowing you to eat at their establishment. Am I alone in thinking that this is bullshit? I doubt it. Do you think I’m lying? If I don’t pay $338 for the BAIID IN ADVANCE, I don’t get to have it.
Again, FUCK THAT!
But let’s move on. I have too much bile in me to waste on Jesse White right now. Sure, his tumblers were cute back in the day. But FUCK HIM. He’s sold out. He’s no longer concerned with helping the little people out. He’s out for NUMBER ONE now. Fuck him in his tender asshole.
Let’s go over the points in the BAIID letter I just got. I won’t go over every point, but I will go over everything I find objection to.
Like point four. It asks that I bring my car in for examination after the BAIID machine asks me to do so within five working days. First of all, what if I can’t do so? I have a job. I’m a useful member of society. I can’t be at their beck and call. Well, if I don’t make it, I will have my suspension extended, which will cost me $330 additional. FUCK THAT.
Or how about point seven? If I fail my BAIID blow, for a variety of reasons, I need to bring my car in for a check up. That might sound reasonable at first, but think about it. Excessive amounts of mouth wash or soda will set off your BAIID. Doesn’t that sound fucked up to you? Every time you set it off because of mouth wash or soda or bread (yes, bread will do it, too), you have to apologize to the State of Illinois? NO! If you agree to this, you have been brainwashed by fearmongers. You are a fool.
Think about point nine for a second. If my suspension is extended three times, my car can be IMPOUNDED for 30 days at my expense. Followed by point 10: if my suspension is extended four times, my car can be seized and sold at an auction. FUCK YOU, JESSE WHITE! FUCK YOU! YOU THINK YOU’RE IMMUNE TO OUR HATRED BECAUSE YOU HAVE TUMBLERS?! YOU SUCK, AND SO DO EVERY ONE OF THE PEOPLE YOU WORK WITH!
It gets worse. If I’m caught breaking ANY other law (even non-traffic laws), I can have my suspension extended. How the fuck does this make sense? Is the State of Illinois populated by asylum escapees? Really? Fuck Pat Quinn and his predecessor. Hook ‘em up to perpetual assfucking machines. The studded ones.
Feast your eyes on point 14. If I drive a vehicle without a BAIID on it, I can be put in jail for anywhere between 30 days to 3 years, and I will have to pay a fine up to $25,000. Did I kill anyone? Did I fuck your mother? Did I rape your daughter or your wife? No, I operated a vehicle while slightly intoxicated. I would have made it home fine, if not for your unconstitutional roadblock stop. I broke no moving laws. You are a fascist, and you want money from me. Cut your own dick off and stick it in your own asshole, OK? That would make me happy.
My grandfather took one look at this document, and he said, “What the fuck country do we live in? When did we bring Hitler back to life?” In his day, do you know what they did with drunk drivers? They slapped them on the wrist and drove them home. At worst, you wound up in the drunk tank for the evening. When you were sober, they sent you home. I don’t see what was wrong with that.
Seriously, if you were pulled over because you were swerving across lanes or going through stop lights, you deserve a DUI. If you were acting like a responsible driver, like me, you shouldn’t have to deal with this Nazi bullshit. This is a persecution the world has not seen since Jesus was crucified. In fact, the Romans who beat and whipped Jesus through the streets, as seen in Mel Gibson’s THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST, were a lot more forgiving than the State of Illinois.
You think I’m exaggerating? The Chicago Tribune recently published a falsified article to show that the BAIID isn’t really that bad. It said that to get it installed, it would only cost $100 to get it installed and $110 to have it monitored and serviced every month. But they don’t mention that everything must be paid up front. This is an old journalist trick to fool readers into being on the writer’s side. Give ‘em some of the truth, but leave out a few details. Surprised? Remember, journalism isn’t about truth, it’s about a business. If you don’t toe the line at your respective paper, then you get fired.
Do you know who got this law passed? MADD did the trick. If they had their way, DUI suspects (not those who have been convicted, but SUSPECTS) would all be castrated and have the word “LOSER” tattooed on our foreheads. They believe anyone who would drink and drive should be jailed and probably waterboarded. Guess what? Most people drive impaired at some point in our lives. The only way to stop this is to OUTLAW DRINKING. And that really worked out the last time we tried that. I’m sick and tired of bullshit. If you think ingesting a particular substance is wrong, you should ban it, right? But we don’t. Why? Because all of the really good civilizations on this planet were founded on BOOZE. That’s right. Name ONE country that wasn’t founded by drunkards. Go ahead. You can’t. It’s impossible. Philosophers are all hardcore drinkers. Or they’re opium fiends. Or they smoke weed. Why? Because altered states help you see through the bullshit to the truth of the universe. If you can’t see through it all, YOU ARE NOT HUMAN. You’re a douchebag who thinks he knows what he’s talking about. [It should be mentioned here that the inebriated me is not talking about calling non-drug users douchebags. What he’s suggesting is that people who can’t see through the bullshit our universe is made of tend to be douchebags who talk a lot and don’t know how it really is. Just thought I’d clarify, as drunk me isn’t being very clear.]
Some of us can handle drinking .08. In fact, I know FOR SURE I can drive on .2 successfully. It’s all relative. If you can’t handle it, you don’t belong on the road. You belong in jail, where you will be raped repeatedly by a guy named Otis with tats on his arms proving conclusively, in Braille and expressionist art, that you are his bitch.
BAC is not a reliable method of judging how drunk someone is. If you are breaking moving laws, you should be pulled over and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. If you can handle yourself while drunk, you should not be subjected to these horribly unconstitutional safety roadblock checks.
Then, why would the BAIID be such a successful campaign? I hear you ask. Actually, it’s not as successful as the State of Illinois would have you believe. Of all those accused of DUI in this state, guess how many have the BAIID installed on their cars. Of 50,000 people a year, only 25,000 get it. Even though only 40,000 are first time offenders (like me), most decide to eat the suspension. Why? I can only give my reason for skipping it: I refuse to give the State of Illinois money it doesn’t deserve. Still, this is NOT making money for Pat Quinn (even though it’s supposed to be a money making scheme). The executive director of Illinois Mothers Against Drunk Driving, Susan McKeigue, can’t even admit to this. She said recently that, “It could go better, but it’s going well.” Really? When only 25,000 people out of 50,000 go for the hideously illegal BAIID, things are going well? That’s only a two-to-one proposition. That will net you the least amount of money on any proposition. How can that be considered a winning situation?
Think about this: how many people have you ever seen with a BAIID on their cars? I’ve driven all over this state, mostly for the City of Elmhurst four years ago, and I have NEVER EVER seen a BAIID on ANYONE’S car. Even now, driving 16 miles to work and 16 miles back from work EVERY DAY, I have never seen a BAIID. Why? I live pretty fucking close to Chicago. If there were BAIID’s out on the road, I would have seen them, right? At least one, right? I haven’t. What does that tell me? NO ONE GETS THIS FUCKING THING. I saw a picture of a guy in the Trib getting it installed on his car, but for all I know, it was a staged photo. I challenge you to show me ONE person in the State of Illinois who has this thing on their car. I know you guys are all hardcore drinkers (well, mostly). I’m willing to believe that NONE of you knows someone in this situation. Am I wrong? Let me know, and I’ll correct myself immediately.
The only way to stop drunk driving is to outlaw booze entirely, and that has never successfully worked in history. Honestly, if it was legal, I’d smoke weed all the time. It’s not harmful, and it doesn’t cause permanent injury to the user. Hell, I’d trip my ass off on shrooms all the time. I find that such excursions into the mental realm are always rewarding. But booze is sanctioned by the US government. If you want to regulate this, you’re saying the US government is wrong. Good luck telling Obama that he’s a fool. After everything you people have said about his health care plan, he’s used to your Nazi gibberish.
Stop persecuting me because I love whiskey! How would you like it if I started giving you shit for liking salads, for example? I hate salads. You don’t see me trying to make salads illegal, do you?
Think twice before calling me a criminal. The hangman comes for everyone, eventually.
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
THE DUI DIARY: Chapter Nine
Once upon a time, Kurtz said the right thing in HEART OF DARKNESS. Maybe not for the right reasons, but still. “The horror! The horror!” Yes, the horror indeed. I lost today before I even showed up for court. How does that grab ya’? It went for the short and curlies and savagely yanked. Go directly to jail. Fuck Go and fuck your money. Abandon hope all ye who enter here.
This morning, I showed up to court on time to find that the judge was late. You bet. If I was late, the world would have probably ended, but the judge? Well, he can take his time, right? Where are you gonna’ go, bubba? You’re already in the jaws of the legal system. Good night and good luck.
I’m jabbering like a fool! But can you blame me? No, I don’t think you can. When I talked to Earl, he asked me if I’d applied for the BAIID yet. I told him that last time I’d seen him, that he had told me not to, at least not yet. He wanted to try the motion to reconsider, which was what I was really counting on today.
Well, about that motion to reconsider . . . . Apparently, Don and Earl played golf with the judge recently, and the main topic of discussion was my case. They talked about it over a few holes (and hopefully more than a couple of cocktails, but that’s just conjecture), and it became very clear to my lawyers that the judge was definitely not going to change his mind. Why file the motion to reconsider if the judge is this adamant?
“So, I have to get the BAIID now?” I asked.
“If you want to drive.”
“Shit. What else can we do?”
Earl smiled. “We’ll skip the motion in favor of an appeal. If this guy won’t change his mind, we’ll get another judge who will change his mind for him.”
See? This is why I love my lawyers. Nothing is ever the end for them. As long as I’m willing to fight (and motherfucker, you bet I am), they’re willing to fight. The problem is, an appeal can sometimes take up to four months (if I’m lucky) to two years. Am I going to not drive in all that time? Fuck that. I’m tired of being chauffeured around.
So, I gotta’ give my car head every time I want to drive somewhere. I guess I can live with that. It’s going to cost out the ass, but fuck it. I’ve gone 41 days without driving, and I’m sick and tired of it. Besides, if the appeal works out, I can have the BAIID removed instantly.
Earl went back into the courtroom to get the paperwork filed. While I waited for him, the woman sitting next to me said, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stick my nose in, but I overheard your conversation with Earl, and we have the same lawyer. My husband—“ She nodded to the man next to her. “—was stopped at a safety roadblock in Carol Stream, and this is our first time in court. What is it like?”
Ah. My first audience members. This is, after all, the reason I’m writing this, to let others know what it’s like. I asked a few questions and found out that the guy’s case is almost exactly like mine. I told them what to expect, but most importantly, I said, “Get ready to sit around and wait. Most of this ordeal is about the waiting.”
I don’t know if that was any comfort to her (I doubt it), but at about that time, Earl came and got me to sign the papers. In 10-14 days, I would receive a notice from the Secretary of State to get the BAIID, and where to get it. I would then have 14 days from when the notice was mailed to get it installed. It’s about $200 up front, and then, every month I have to pay $110 (for rental and maintenance). Motherfuckers.
My grandfather and mother, who were my ride (as usual) had this to say about what transpired today: “Fuck the judge, fuck the system, fuck the state. They’re cocksucking motherfucking sons of bitches pieces of shit.” My grandfather also offered this for my consideration: “Do you think, during that golf outing, the judge had more than a few drinks before getting in his car and driving home?”
It’s a delicious thought, but I honestly don’t think so. That’s not really the behavior of a man who is trying to get reelected. But it’s nice to think about.
On the way out of court, I asked my lawyer if he thought my chances were good, in regards to my appeal. “I wouldn’t waste my time doing a bunch of research and writing 30 pages of legal briefs if I didn’t think we had a chance,” he said. This made me very happy.
Well, at least I only have a couple more weeks of depending on other people to get a ride. My next court date is in a month, and that’s when my real trial begins . . . .
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!
This morning, I showed up to court on time to find that the judge was late. You bet. If I was late, the world would have probably ended, but the judge? Well, he can take his time, right? Where are you gonna’ go, bubba? You’re already in the jaws of the legal system. Good night and good luck.
I’m jabbering like a fool! But can you blame me? No, I don’t think you can. When I talked to Earl, he asked me if I’d applied for the BAIID yet. I told him that last time I’d seen him, that he had told me not to, at least not yet. He wanted to try the motion to reconsider, which was what I was really counting on today.
Well, about that motion to reconsider . . . . Apparently, Don and Earl played golf with the judge recently, and the main topic of discussion was my case. They talked about it over a few holes (and hopefully more than a couple of cocktails, but that’s just conjecture), and it became very clear to my lawyers that the judge was definitely not going to change his mind. Why file the motion to reconsider if the judge is this adamant?
“So, I have to get the BAIID now?” I asked.
“If you want to drive.”
“Shit. What else can we do?”
Earl smiled. “We’ll skip the motion in favor of an appeal. If this guy won’t change his mind, we’ll get another judge who will change his mind for him.”
See? This is why I love my lawyers. Nothing is ever the end for them. As long as I’m willing to fight (and motherfucker, you bet I am), they’re willing to fight. The problem is, an appeal can sometimes take up to four months (if I’m lucky) to two years. Am I going to not drive in all that time? Fuck that. I’m tired of being chauffeured around.
So, I gotta’ give my car head every time I want to drive somewhere. I guess I can live with that. It’s going to cost out the ass, but fuck it. I’ve gone 41 days without driving, and I’m sick and tired of it. Besides, if the appeal works out, I can have the BAIID removed instantly.
Earl went back into the courtroom to get the paperwork filed. While I waited for him, the woman sitting next to me said, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stick my nose in, but I overheard your conversation with Earl, and we have the same lawyer. My husband—“ She nodded to the man next to her. “—was stopped at a safety roadblock in Carol Stream, and this is our first time in court. What is it like?”
Ah. My first audience members. This is, after all, the reason I’m writing this, to let others know what it’s like. I asked a few questions and found out that the guy’s case is almost exactly like mine. I told them what to expect, but most importantly, I said, “Get ready to sit around and wait. Most of this ordeal is about the waiting.”
I don’t know if that was any comfort to her (I doubt it), but at about that time, Earl came and got me to sign the papers. In 10-14 days, I would receive a notice from the Secretary of State to get the BAIID, and where to get it. I would then have 14 days from when the notice was mailed to get it installed. It’s about $200 up front, and then, every month I have to pay $110 (for rental and maintenance). Motherfuckers.
My grandfather and mother, who were my ride (as usual) had this to say about what transpired today: “Fuck the judge, fuck the system, fuck the state. They’re cocksucking motherfucking sons of bitches pieces of shit.” My grandfather also offered this for my consideration: “Do you think, during that golf outing, the judge had more than a few drinks before getting in his car and driving home?”
It’s a delicious thought, but I honestly don’t think so. That’s not really the behavior of a man who is trying to get reelected. But it’s nice to think about.
On the way out of court, I asked my lawyer if he thought my chances were good, in regards to my appeal. “I wouldn’t waste my time doing a bunch of research and writing 30 pages of legal briefs if I didn’t think we had a chance,” he said. This made me very happy.
Well, at least I only have a couple more weeks of depending on other people to get a ride. My next court date is in a month, and that’s when my real trial begins . . . .
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
THE DUI DIARY: Chapter 8 (Interlude)
Last night, I went to Strat’s in Villa Park to meet with a friend of mine. She’s putting together an art book, and she wanted my help to edit and format it.
I should explain that Strat’s is basically a hangout for teenagers, and it’s ‘Fifties-themed, so when I’m there, it feels like I’m living out an episode of HAPPY DAYS. However, most of the action takes place in the parking lot behind the restaurant. This is where everyone likes to party and show off their cars and act like alpha males. The only time they actually walk into the restaurant is when they need another drink.
So, Mari and I were sitting at a table, eating cheese fries and drinking a bunch of Schlitz, talking about the project at hand. Because I knew Strat’s didn’t serve hard liquor, I had a flask in my pocket filled with Stillbrook, and every once in a while I’d sneak off to the bathroom to take a snort. What did I care? It wasn’t like I was driving anywhere. We were going to share a cab back to our respective homes.
Well, at one point Mari pointed behind me and said, “Holy shit!” I turned to see a metric shit-ton of cops outside. Flashing lights and flashlights, everywhere. As it turned out, the idiot alpha males out back decided to figure out who the alpha-alpha male was, and they got into a huge fight. The cops were called, and they came out in force. I had no idea that Villa Park had this many police officers. People were being led away in cuffs.
It was 1:30 at this point. We had called our cab and were just waiting, because Strat’s closes at 2:00. However, the counter girls decided to close up early, and they said we had to leave. I guzzled the remainder of my beer, and we started heading out the door.
Well, there were still cops roaming around all over the place, and that never makes me feel comfortable. That many authority figures in one place makes me nervous, especially since I had a flask in my pocket, and it was at least a quarter-full. If they decided, for shits and giggles, to search us, they would have definitely found it, and it wouldn’t have been very good for my DUI case.
They watched as we stepped out of the restaurant. The manager of the place was about to lock up when, in my desperation to be away from these officers, I said, “Is there anyplace where we can wait around here? A cab’s on its way to pick us up.”
My request must have sounded very reasonable. The manager said, “Well, you can’t sit around out here. The cops’ll ask you to leave. I guess you can wait in here.”
She left the door open and locked the inner door to the restaurant. I’m not sure what the place where we waited is called. It might just be a foyer. I guess people in medieval times would have called it an antechamber. Whatever it’s called, they allowed us to wait between the inner and outer doors. Occasionally the cops would throw us a glance, but they must have deemed us insignificant, as they never approached us.
“I hope the flashing lights don’t scare our cab away,” I said.
Luckily, the cops had arrested everyone they wanted to, and they drove everyone else off the property. Five minutes later, our cab showed up and drove us home, where I finished off my flask and dropped into bed, full of relief.
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!
I should explain that Strat’s is basically a hangout for teenagers, and it’s ‘Fifties-themed, so when I’m there, it feels like I’m living out an episode of HAPPY DAYS. However, most of the action takes place in the parking lot behind the restaurant. This is where everyone likes to party and show off their cars and act like alpha males. The only time they actually walk into the restaurant is when they need another drink.
So, Mari and I were sitting at a table, eating cheese fries and drinking a bunch of Schlitz, talking about the project at hand. Because I knew Strat’s didn’t serve hard liquor, I had a flask in my pocket filled with Stillbrook, and every once in a while I’d sneak off to the bathroom to take a snort. What did I care? It wasn’t like I was driving anywhere. We were going to share a cab back to our respective homes.
Well, at one point Mari pointed behind me and said, “Holy shit!” I turned to see a metric shit-ton of cops outside. Flashing lights and flashlights, everywhere. As it turned out, the idiot alpha males out back decided to figure out who the alpha-alpha male was, and they got into a huge fight. The cops were called, and they came out in force. I had no idea that Villa Park had this many police officers. People were being led away in cuffs.
It was 1:30 at this point. We had called our cab and were just waiting, because Strat’s closes at 2:00. However, the counter girls decided to close up early, and they said we had to leave. I guzzled the remainder of my beer, and we started heading out the door.
Well, there were still cops roaming around all over the place, and that never makes me feel comfortable. That many authority figures in one place makes me nervous, especially since I had a flask in my pocket, and it was at least a quarter-full. If they decided, for shits and giggles, to search us, they would have definitely found it, and it wouldn’t have been very good for my DUI case.
They watched as we stepped out of the restaurant. The manager of the place was about to lock up when, in my desperation to be away from these officers, I said, “Is there anyplace where we can wait around here? A cab’s on its way to pick us up.”
My request must have sounded very reasonable. The manager said, “Well, you can’t sit around out here. The cops’ll ask you to leave. I guess you can wait in here.”
She left the door open and locked the inner door to the restaurant. I’m not sure what the place where we waited is called. It might just be a foyer. I guess people in medieval times would have called it an antechamber. Whatever it’s called, they allowed us to wait between the inner and outer doors. Occasionally the cops would throw us a glance, but they must have deemed us insignificant, as they never approached us.
“I hope the flashing lights don’t scare our cab away,” I said.
Luckily, the cops had arrested everyone they wanted to, and they drove everyone else off the property. Five minutes later, our cab showed up and drove us home, where I finished off my flask and dropped into bed, full of relief.
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!
Monday, December 5, 2011
THE DUI DIARY: Chapter Seven
30 DAYS
No, I’m not talking about the Chuck Berry song. Today, July 16, 2009, is the end of my thirty days of absolutely no driving. If I had just given up, I’d be able to get the BAIID installed in my car tomorrow. It would probably be a relief to Gramps and Mom, who have to drive me around all the time.
But it would be no comfort to me. I am a firm believer in taking chances. Greatness will never be yours unless you roll the dice. The only true losers in the world are those who never put anything at risk.
I don’t merely want to drive again. I want to be able to drive with complete impunity. No breathalyzers on my car, thank you very much. The problem is, in order to buy my way into this particular gamble, I have to sacrifice a few days of driving. That’s right, I still can’t drive because my lawyers are submitting the motion to reconsider. One way or the other, on July 27, I will be driving again. I just don’t want to have to blow in a tube to do it.
If this works, not only will I get my full driving privileges back, I will also have a hell of an excellent chance of having my entire DUI case thrown out. Sounds like a pretty good prize, huh? Well, if I come up with snake eyes, I’ll have to go through the incredible expense of installing the BAIID (which I will have to pay for every month for 11 months), and my DUI case takes a shot in the foot. It will be just one more bullet the prosecution can put in their gun.
The stakes are high for me, but I’m ready to play. This is no longer just about me, this is about proving a point. Don’t just put on their studded leather dog collar and accept failure. There is always something you can do. Victory is not assured, but those who don’t seek it will never find it.
One way or the other, tube or not, I look forward to be able to drive myself again. I’m tired of getting ferried from Elmhurst to Schaumburg and back again, every day. At least my grandfather is no longer the person who is driving me. He was recently declared legally blind, so he can’t drive, either. No, now my disabled mother drives me. She can’t turn her head, so I have to check every time she needs to change lanes. It’s annoying, but at the very least I’m not screaming anymore.
I can’t tell you how many times my grandfather nearly got us killed. Weaving across lanes, going through stop signs, running up curbs, you name it, he did it. I was screaming myself hoarse, and while I wish I could say they were very masculine sounds, I suspect they were quite girly.
I miss driving myself to McDonald’s, to the bank, to the comic book store, to Borders, to Zippy’s for their wonderful Zipp Stix, to Burger King on Tuesdays for 79-cent cheeseburger day, to the forest preserve, to the library, to bars, to friends’ places. Fuck! I miss it all.
I just have to last another eleven days. That’s all. Talk to you then.
No, I’m not talking about the Chuck Berry song. Today, July 16, 2009, is the end of my thirty days of absolutely no driving. If I had just given up, I’d be able to get the BAIID installed in my car tomorrow. It would probably be a relief to Gramps and Mom, who have to drive me around all the time.
But it would be no comfort to me. I am a firm believer in taking chances. Greatness will never be yours unless you roll the dice. The only true losers in the world are those who never put anything at risk.
I don’t merely want to drive again. I want to be able to drive with complete impunity. No breathalyzers on my car, thank you very much. The problem is, in order to buy my way into this particular gamble, I have to sacrifice a few days of driving. That’s right, I still can’t drive because my lawyers are submitting the motion to reconsider. One way or the other, on July 27, I will be driving again. I just don’t want to have to blow in a tube to do it.
If this works, not only will I get my full driving privileges back, I will also have a hell of an excellent chance of having my entire DUI case thrown out. Sounds like a pretty good prize, huh? Well, if I come up with snake eyes, I’ll have to go through the incredible expense of installing the BAIID (which I will have to pay for every month for 11 months), and my DUI case takes a shot in the foot. It will be just one more bullet the prosecution can put in their gun.
The stakes are high for me, but I’m ready to play. This is no longer just about me, this is about proving a point. Don’t just put on their studded leather dog collar and accept failure. There is always something you can do. Victory is not assured, but those who don’t seek it will never find it.
One way or the other, tube or not, I look forward to be able to drive myself again. I’m tired of getting ferried from Elmhurst to Schaumburg and back again, every day. At least my grandfather is no longer the person who is driving me. He was recently declared legally blind, so he can’t drive, either. No, now my disabled mother drives me. She can’t turn her head, so I have to check every time she needs to change lanes. It’s annoying, but at the very least I’m not screaming anymore.
I can’t tell you how many times my grandfather nearly got us killed. Weaving across lanes, going through stop signs, running up curbs, you name it, he did it. I was screaming myself hoarse, and while I wish I could say they were very masculine sounds, I suspect they were quite girly.
I miss driving myself to McDonald’s, to the bank, to the comic book store, to Borders, to Zippy’s for their wonderful Zipp Stix, to Burger King on Tuesdays for 79-cent cheeseburger day, to the forest preserve, to the library, to bars, to friends’ places. Fuck! I miss it all.
I just have to last another eleven days. That’s all. Talk to you then.
Friday, December 2, 2011
THE DUI DIARY: Chapter Six
Fuck. That’s all I can say right now. Give me a minute.
OK. Court went pretty badly today. I lost. My suspension has been reinforced, and it looks like I won’t be able to drive again until, at the very earliest, July 27th. Let me tell you what happened.
I showed up for court at the usual time, again accompanied by my grandfather (who needs to drive me, as my license is still suspended), where I settled into a seat and started to read. This time, it was THE STORE by Bentley Little, which is a very fucked up, very socially relevant book, highly recommended. When Steve showed up, he told me that the judge doesn’t allow reading in the courtroom, and if I wanted to read, I should wait outside. He didn’t want me to get yelled at or anything.
It wasn’t until I was outside, cracking open my book again, when it occurred to me what had just happened. I can understand them not allowing cell phones and cameras and shit like that in the courtroom, but READING?! How is that an issue? What exactly are we supposed to do while waiting for our turn to be called? Should we give the judge our undivided attention in cases where we are not concerned? This doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe if I was sentenced to court observation, I could see why they wouldn’t want me to read.
This is how I occupy my downtime in life. When I’m at work and not doing anything in particular, I read. When I’m on break, I read. When I don’t have anything going on in my life, I read. When I’m waiting for a movie to start in the theater, I read. When I’m waiting for the red light to turn green, I read. When I’m waiting to be thrashed by The System, I read. Am I the crazy one?
Regardless, I sat outside and read and waited. Around 11:30, Steve came out and said that the judge had still not made up his mind, and we needed to come back at 1:30 for his final decision. That was OK, I suppose. I had the day off from work, and I was hungry. What the hell? Why not?
Gramps and I headed over to McDonald’s and had lunch before heading back to court, where I finished THE STORE early. I had to wait a half an hour before they unlocked the door and let us in.
Thankfully, I was the first person they called. Steve wasn’t there this time, but Earl was. I stood next to him as he and the prosecutor went over a new case they’d just found that was pretty close to what I had. There was a “strong” odor of alcohol and a confession of two beers, and the officer in question didn’t think that was enough to prolong the stop.
Now, I thought this was a great legal precedent. Compared to my “faint” odor of alcohol and a confession of one beer, I thought I was in the clear. The prosecutor brought up a case he’d brought up at my last court date, and he harped on that for a while. Same shit, different day. The judge practically rolled his eyes upon hearing this bullshit.
I thought I was in the clear. I should give up hope; if you don’t have high expectations, you’re rarely let down. Jesus said that. I think. Or maybe it was in the Book of Revelation. Memory fails me at this moment.
Anyway, the judge agonized over the decision for a moment, and then he said that if it was just a matter of the “faint” odor of alcohol and the admission of one beer, he’d let it go. But the officer also mentioned “glossy” eyes (whatever that means; perhaps he meant “glassy”) in his report, and this is what the judge was really thinking about. “I think the glossy eyes was enough to put it over the top,” he said. “Barely, but just enough. I’m going to have to deny the request to rescind.”
Earl looked at me and whispered, “Were you wearing contact lenses that night? That might explain glossy eyes.”
I had to say no. I’ve worn glasses since the third grade, and I am 100% against putting anything into my eyes. My sight is very important to me, and I don’t want to risk it by inserting curved plastic sheets into my eyes.
Now, it was time to deal with the second part of the DUI case: the criminal portion. The judge told me that my next court date was the 27th of July at 8:30, a Monday. I’d have to take another day off, but that was fine. I still had plenty of days left.
Earl told me to wait outside for him. I told my grandfather this, and we both went out into the lobby to wait for my lawyer. It didn’t take long. Earl pulled me into the conference room just outside the courtroom, and he apologized for this devastating loss.
“We can do one of two things,” he said. “We can fill out the form for the BAIID and send that off. When you get your notification, you will have no choice but to pay the fee up front and have the BAIID installed within 14 days of notification. Or we can hold off on that and file a motion to reconsider.”
“Is that an appeal?” my grandfather asked.
“Not necessarily, but it’s the same idea. Now that we know that the main issue in the judge’s mind is the ‘glossy’ eyes, we can look for legal precedent and make the argument that glossy eyes is not an indication of drunkenness. I mean, I’m looking at you right now, and I can see you have glassy eyes.”
It’s true. Most of the time, I do indeed have glassy eyes. It’s usually because I’m disappointed in the way my life is going.
“If successful, we can overturn the judge’s decision today, and you’ll be able to get your driving privileges back on the 27th. If not, then we will have no choice but to go ahead with the BAIID, and then we can begin on the criminal side of your case. Do you want us to continue to fight this?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I want to win.”
“Good. I mention this because, honestly, you don’t have anything to lose in pushing this. It’s not like they’re going to add more time to your suspension if you lose. And maybe, just maybe, if we get the suspension rescinded, we can suppress any subsequent evidence, in which case you will be able to get off scot-free.”
I smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
Earl then said that was what he was going to do, and he bid us good afternoon. My grandfather and I went out to my car, and I plugged some Bad Religion into my CD player. THE EMPIRE STRIKES FIRST, which I think is appropriate music for my current predicament. With every year that passes, the government seems to come up with more and more reasons to abridge the Fourth Amendment (among others, of course). “Safety” roadblocks are illegal, as far as I’m concerned, but somehow the fascist thugs managed to bypass the Bill of Rights, and now I’m stuck in this horrible situation.
You have no idea what it’s like to depend on my grandfather for a ride. He is 82, and he has cataracts. When he drives, I scream a lot, and I find myself grabbing the wheel often, pulling us back into the proper lane. Also, he has a very weak bladder. If he needs to piss, he will pull over anywhere, even in front of a police station, where he will just open the door and aim his pecker out into the road.
I need to be able to drive again. Fuck!
TO BE CONTINUED ON MONDAY!
OK. Court went pretty badly today. I lost. My suspension has been reinforced, and it looks like I won’t be able to drive again until, at the very earliest, July 27th. Let me tell you what happened.
I showed up for court at the usual time, again accompanied by my grandfather (who needs to drive me, as my license is still suspended), where I settled into a seat and started to read. This time, it was THE STORE by Bentley Little, which is a very fucked up, very socially relevant book, highly recommended. When Steve showed up, he told me that the judge doesn’t allow reading in the courtroom, and if I wanted to read, I should wait outside. He didn’t want me to get yelled at or anything.
It wasn’t until I was outside, cracking open my book again, when it occurred to me what had just happened. I can understand them not allowing cell phones and cameras and shit like that in the courtroom, but READING?! How is that an issue? What exactly are we supposed to do while waiting for our turn to be called? Should we give the judge our undivided attention in cases where we are not concerned? This doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe if I was sentenced to court observation, I could see why they wouldn’t want me to read.
This is how I occupy my downtime in life. When I’m at work and not doing anything in particular, I read. When I’m on break, I read. When I don’t have anything going on in my life, I read. When I’m waiting for a movie to start in the theater, I read. When I’m waiting for the red light to turn green, I read. When I’m waiting to be thrashed by The System, I read. Am I the crazy one?
Regardless, I sat outside and read and waited. Around 11:30, Steve came out and said that the judge had still not made up his mind, and we needed to come back at 1:30 for his final decision. That was OK, I suppose. I had the day off from work, and I was hungry. What the hell? Why not?
Gramps and I headed over to McDonald’s and had lunch before heading back to court, where I finished THE STORE early. I had to wait a half an hour before they unlocked the door and let us in.
Thankfully, I was the first person they called. Steve wasn’t there this time, but Earl was. I stood next to him as he and the prosecutor went over a new case they’d just found that was pretty close to what I had. There was a “strong” odor of alcohol and a confession of two beers, and the officer in question didn’t think that was enough to prolong the stop.
Now, I thought this was a great legal precedent. Compared to my “faint” odor of alcohol and a confession of one beer, I thought I was in the clear. The prosecutor brought up a case he’d brought up at my last court date, and he harped on that for a while. Same shit, different day. The judge practically rolled his eyes upon hearing this bullshit.
I thought I was in the clear. I should give up hope; if you don’t have high expectations, you’re rarely let down. Jesus said that. I think. Or maybe it was in the Book of Revelation. Memory fails me at this moment.
Anyway, the judge agonized over the decision for a moment, and then he said that if it was just a matter of the “faint” odor of alcohol and the admission of one beer, he’d let it go. But the officer also mentioned “glossy” eyes (whatever that means; perhaps he meant “glassy”) in his report, and this is what the judge was really thinking about. “I think the glossy eyes was enough to put it over the top,” he said. “Barely, but just enough. I’m going to have to deny the request to rescind.”
Earl looked at me and whispered, “Were you wearing contact lenses that night? That might explain glossy eyes.”
I had to say no. I’ve worn glasses since the third grade, and I am 100% against putting anything into my eyes. My sight is very important to me, and I don’t want to risk it by inserting curved plastic sheets into my eyes.
Now, it was time to deal with the second part of the DUI case: the criminal portion. The judge told me that my next court date was the 27th of July at 8:30, a Monday. I’d have to take another day off, but that was fine. I still had plenty of days left.
Earl told me to wait outside for him. I told my grandfather this, and we both went out into the lobby to wait for my lawyer. It didn’t take long. Earl pulled me into the conference room just outside the courtroom, and he apologized for this devastating loss.
“We can do one of two things,” he said. “We can fill out the form for the BAIID and send that off. When you get your notification, you will have no choice but to pay the fee up front and have the BAIID installed within 14 days of notification. Or we can hold off on that and file a motion to reconsider.”
“Is that an appeal?” my grandfather asked.
“Not necessarily, but it’s the same idea. Now that we know that the main issue in the judge’s mind is the ‘glossy’ eyes, we can look for legal precedent and make the argument that glossy eyes is not an indication of drunkenness. I mean, I’m looking at you right now, and I can see you have glassy eyes.”
It’s true. Most of the time, I do indeed have glassy eyes. It’s usually because I’m disappointed in the way my life is going.
“If successful, we can overturn the judge’s decision today, and you’ll be able to get your driving privileges back on the 27th. If not, then we will have no choice but to go ahead with the BAIID, and then we can begin on the criminal side of your case. Do you want us to continue to fight this?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I want to win.”
“Good. I mention this because, honestly, you don’t have anything to lose in pushing this. It’s not like they’re going to add more time to your suspension if you lose. And maybe, just maybe, if we get the suspension rescinded, we can suppress any subsequent evidence, in which case you will be able to get off scot-free.”
I smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
Earl then said that was what he was going to do, and he bid us good afternoon. My grandfather and I went out to my car, and I plugged some Bad Religion into my CD player. THE EMPIRE STRIKES FIRST, which I think is appropriate music for my current predicament. With every year that passes, the government seems to come up with more and more reasons to abridge the Fourth Amendment (among others, of course). “Safety” roadblocks are illegal, as far as I’m concerned, but somehow the fascist thugs managed to bypass the Bill of Rights, and now I’m stuck in this horrible situation.
You have no idea what it’s like to depend on my grandfather for a ride. He is 82, and he has cataracts. When he drives, I scream a lot, and I find myself grabbing the wheel often, pulling us back into the proper lane. Also, he has a very weak bladder. If he needs to piss, he will pull over anywhere, even in front of a police station, where he will just open the door and aim his pecker out into the road.
I need to be able to drive again. Fuck!
TO BE CONTINUED ON MONDAY!
Thursday, December 1, 2011
THE DUI DIARY: Chapter Five
Hm. Maybe I was wrong. I have to say, today seemed a bit anti-climactic. Yes, it will be another to-be-continued installment, but let me explain what happened. Once again, I showed up at court (this time driven by my grandfather, since my license has been suspended), and once again, Steve told me that they were going to handle my case near the end of the morning. He told me to sit outside in the lobby and wait for him to call me. So, I settled down with Elmore Leonard again and prepared to wait. This sucked because I had spent the previous evening sweating my ass off in an airport in Atlanta, wondering if I was going to make it back home in time for my court date. I was scheduled to get out of there at 8:00 eastern, but the plane was delayed . . . until 11:30. Then, we heard that our plane wasn’t going to make it to Atlanta, so we all started wondering if we would actually be able to get to Chicago that night. When we got a different plane, there were technical difficulties and we were delayed once again. What it comes down to is, I spent hours upon hours just sitting around Atlanta, where all the bars were closed, and I was finished with my reading material. (By the way, I recommend K.W. Jeter’s DR. ADDER. It’s a fine mixture of Burroughs and Dick and should be read by anyone interested in SF.) So, here I was, waiting again, except this time it was at the DuPage County Judicial Center.
Needless to say, I was getting dangerously close to finishing the Leonard book, and it was only 10:00. From the last time I was here, I figured I’d be going last again, at about 12:00. I gritted my teeth. At least this would be the last time I needed to come here for a month, I thought.
Well . . . .
Steve had a busy morning, but the main lawyer in his firm, Don, finished with his caseload early. He decided to take over my case for Steve. They called me in, and I waited until the judge was ready for me.
The clerk said, “John Bruni,” and I rushed up to stand next to Don. During the course of the week, both he and the prosecutor had swapped legal cases to show precedent for my case. Here, they passed the histories over to the judge with the pertinent passages highlighted, and they both started discussing what has come before. Apparently, my case really has no precedent, just vaguely similar instances. Don argued that if the judge were to side with me, he would be reinforcing the idea that the “faint” odor of alcohol and the admission of one beer is not enough to merit a field sobriety test. However, if he sided with the state, then he would be opening up a whole new arena, in which it is one hundred percent illegal to drink and drive. In the words of my attorney, “You would be equating drinking as an indication of intoxication with eating as an indication of gluttony.”
I love my lawyer.
Anyway, the judge needed more time to look over the cases Don and the prosecutor came up with before making his own decision. I felt my butthole clench. You mean, I have to come back here next week?
Yeah, I do, but on the way out, Don said that he was sorry about the hassle. However, if things worked out in my favor, the rest of the DUI case (the criminal side; this part is just the civil side) would run very smoothly, and it would in all likelihood result in my freedom.
So I have to get a ride to work for the rest of the week. OK, I can deal with that, if it means that my chances of getting out of this are improving. But if the judge decides I’m a jabbering fool, and he decides to make an example of me, I’m afraid I might have messed it up for everyone. I’ll save that apology for another day, as it might not be necessary.
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!
Needless to say, I was getting dangerously close to finishing the Leonard book, and it was only 10:00. From the last time I was here, I figured I’d be going last again, at about 12:00. I gritted my teeth. At least this would be the last time I needed to come here for a month, I thought.
Well . . . .
Steve had a busy morning, but the main lawyer in his firm, Don, finished with his caseload early. He decided to take over my case for Steve. They called me in, and I waited until the judge was ready for me.
The clerk said, “John Bruni,” and I rushed up to stand next to Don. During the course of the week, both he and the prosecutor had swapped legal cases to show precedent for my case. Here, they passed the histories over to the judge with the pertinent passages highlighted, and they both started discussing what has come before. Apparently, my case really has no precedent, just vaguely similar instances. Don argued that if the judge were to side with me, he would be reinforcing the idea that the “faint” odor of alcohol and the admission of one beer is not enough to merit a field sobriety test. However, if he sided with the state, then he would be opening up a whole new arena, in which it is one hundred percent illegal to drink and drive. In the words of my attorney, “You would be equating drinking as an indication of intoxication with eating as an indication of gluttony.”
I love my lawyer.
Anyway, the judge needed more time to look over the cases Don and the prosecutor came up with before making his own decision. I felt my butthole clench. You mean, I have to come back here next week?
Yeah, I do, but on the way out, Don said that he was sorry about the hassle. However, if things worked out in my favor, the rest of the DUI case (the criminal side; this part is just the civil side) would run very smoothly, and it would in all likelihood result in my freedom.
So I have to get a ride to work for the rest of the week. OK, I can deal with that, if it means that my chances of getting out of this are improving. But if the judge decides I’m a jabbering fool, and he decides to make an example of me, I’m afraid I might have messed it up for everyone. I’ll save that apology for another day, as it might not be necessary.
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!
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