We all remember my dirty, white creeper van, right? The one that I have the marvelous privilege of driving around in during my “prime years”? Yeah, that one. Oh, the boys I’ve gotten attention from driving around in this thing!!
Before I go into detail of this rather embarrassing event, I’d like to preface by saying that I am a great driver. I’m also extremely sarcastic and terribly bad at lying.
As mentioned in my “van buddies” post, I have a great many driving sins and transgressions. The number of parking citations, speeding tickets, and accidents will not be disclosed at this time. However, you are safe in assuming that I’ve had so many of them that it’s caused the amount of points on my license to sky rocket. It was only a matter of time before I would get my license revoked.
The letter came before I was ready. I opened the sealed envelope and read what was staring back at me: “Due to the amount of points on your Utah Driver’s License, you will need to meet with a member of the court to discuss further action regarding your driving privileges.”
I nervously walked into the DMV on my day of reckoning, silently praying that my license wouldn’t be revoked.
The outcome of the visit: I would be on probation for an entire year. Any citations or tickets would result in suspension for a time period of 30 days.
I walked out of the building, determined to never speed again in my entire life.
That determination was very short lived. I hadn’t even made it ¼ of the way through my probation before I was rolling down my window to face the less than pleasant cop.
By now it was practically routine: Get the registration paper out of the glove box. Hand him your license. Apologize for being stupid. And wait.
Part of me nervously anticipated what he would find when he punched my name into his little computer. The possibility of having to forfeit my license and vehicle right there on the freeway became utterly terrifying. Fortunately I was able to continue my drive back home without the police officer possessing the knowledge of my probation.
I began wishfully thinking that somehow the DMV wasn’t notified of my most recent offense. However, those hopes were dashed when I received the letter in the mail; this time calling me to actual court.
The day of my appearance came far too quickly. I walked into the court house and sat down in the back. Never having been in this situation before, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. The people ahead of me were being charged with fines of upwards of thousands of dollars along with receiving jail sentences.
I felt the color drain from my face as my heart began to pound. I nervously rubbed my sweaty palms on my pants as I anticipated the moment they would call out my name.
While trying my hardest to appear confident, my mind was racing: What if I go to jail? I can’t go to jail! I have school… and a job! How will I get a job after going to jail!? Would I even survive in jail? Would they put me with criminals?? Will I have to wear an orange jumpsuit every day?! What about my apartment? Someone will have to move all of my stuff out!
Then, I began to try and see the bright side of going to jail at the young age of twenty: I guess this will help you finally learn your lesson.
You won’t have to buy food or pay for rent for three months!
By the time you’re out, your missionary friends will be 90 days closer to being home!
The negatives greatly outweighed the positives.
My thoughts were disturbed when I heard them call out, “Cambri Hill”. Here goes nothin.
I walked up to the podium. Smile. Maybe he’ll think you’re a really sweet girl and that you shouldn’t go to jail. I smiled weakly as I squeaked out a shaky, “Hello”.
The judge read what was on my ticket and glanced up at me as he asked, “How do you plead?”
Oh my gosh. I have to plead?! This is the type of stuff you watch in movies!!.
“Guilty.”
Here it comes. Jail. 90 days. I’m ready.
I left with a fine and suspended license. Hopping into my car, I let out an exasperated sigh as I looked up at the nasty grey roof of my van. Thank you!!!!!
Side note: as a result of my stubbornness, my parents were unaware that any of this was happening. And because of that fact, I was forced to drive around in my minivan illegally.
It didn’t take long before the flashing blue and red lights appeared in my rear view window. My fist pounded the steering wheel before I began the search to find my license. I wasn’t even speeding!
One would say I have terrible luck. And I would agree.
I rolled down the window and plastered on the nicest smile I could. “Hi, officer. Was I speeding?”
“No. Your registration is expired. Were you aware of that?”
No. No I wasn’t.
Miracle of miracles, I was set free, without him even looking at my license – er, revoked license.
I immediately began the process to getting it registered. I could not get pulled over again.
Just as luck would have it, the process to getting my lovely van registered took far too long, and this time, the cop discovered my secret. I informed my dad of the ticket I had received, assuming I would just take care of the fines myself. However, he was determined to pay. I immediately regretted telling him I had ever received the ticket – I knew that if he dug enough, he would come to find that I was driving with a revoked license.
So I did what any smart, sophisticated individual would do: hide. Everything.
Each time I went home, I knew I would be asked if I had called on my ticket; “Oh. I forgot. I’ll do that tomorrow.” He would periodically ask, “Where’s your ticket?” And I would respond, “I left it at my apartment.”
Finally, my dad’s patience had run out and he resorted to calling on the ticket himself. And it just so happened, the day of my now second court appearance, was when he decided to call.
I left my class at UVU and shamefully drove to the American Fork Judicial Court building. I parked my car and slumped my shoulders as I walked inside, took off everything metal, and stepped through the security system – if only I was at the airport instead, getting on a one-way flight to Hawaii.
I walked into the court room, and again, sat as close as I could to the back, watching as numerous people bustled in. My mind began to wander;what if this is the time I actually go to jail? So I pulled out my phone and went to the one place where all of life’s questions are addressed: Google.
I clicked on the first link that popped up: Yahoo! Answers. The girl explained her situation (much similar to mine) and asked if she would be going to jail.
Every. Single. Answer confirmed her worst fear (and mine).
Upon realizing that Google would provide no relief, I looked up to see a tall, skinny brunette frantically run inside. She had on dirty sneakers, yoga pants, and an oversized sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back from her make-up free face. Ha. I thought. That looks like my…
Mom?!!
My eyes widened. What is she doing here?! I was caught. I cocked my head to the side, attempting to hide my presence as I slowly sunk as deep as I could into the bench. Maybe she won’t notice?
My phone lit up with a text that read: Where are you? Dad called on your ticket. You have an appearance in court right now!
Both realizing and accepting that I would not be able to somehow magically melt away, I responded: Look to your left.
Our eyes met. “What are you doing here?!” She mouthed.
Moments after confessing to my mother, my name was called. I squared my shoulders and straightened my shirt as I struggled to confidently walk up to the podium. The two note-takers looked up at the judge and said, “Oh. Miss Hill will be late. Her father called in and said she was at school.”
The judge looked at me through her glasses and said, “Does your Father know you aren’t in school?”
After receiving the appropriate consequence of my actions, I left the court room, my mother in tow. I expected a good scolding and a “you need to be more careful” talk on the way out of the court room. I prepared my eyes to start rolling and my breath to start sighing.
She laughed. “Thanks for a tour of the Judicial Court House! I should have taken a picture of you up there!”
What!?
***
There are three conclusions that have risen from this oh-so-embarrassing story of mine:
Number two: This would make for a great story, someday.
I didn’t realize that “someday” would be so soon after. The wound of embarrassment is still fresh as ever. But upon realizing that my mother’s newest goal was to share this humorous adventure with any and every soul that she could, I found it best to expose it now.
It’ll be good for posterity. Right?
And number three: Have I learned my lesson?
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