The longest quarter year of my life--Part IV: Facing the Suburban (non) Judges

Previously in the End of an Era Series: In addition to my ticket from Chicago, I now had two additional tickets to deal with out in the suburbs---and a car with suspended license plates...


Part IV: Facing the Suburban (non) Judges.


Since my second time getting pulled over in the suburbs, I made it a point to not leave the city with my suspended car. I still risked driving to work and school occasionally--holding my breath the entire time.

I made excuses justifying it to myself: "I can't take the CTA to River Forest! A 20-minute drive would turn into an hour-long bus and train trip!" "But United Center is all of four miles from my house--it's just a quick shot down 290 and right off the highway." Bad bad, yes, but I never got pulled over in the city. The Chicago PD has bigger fish to fry, for sure.

The Glendale Heights Circuit Clerk wasted no time in sending me the notices for my two scheduled court appearances. The first was scheduled for Tuesday, October 14, the second for Tuesday, October 28, both at 1 p.m. A couple nights before the 14th, I emailed Angelique asking if she was available to give me a ride out there. Sure, I could be a dummy and sneak around in my car in the city, but only a dumbass would drive their suspended vehicle to a courthouse, much less in the suburbs.

Ange graciously responded that she could help me out, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Late Monday night I called my mother, who had offered to loan me her car, and told her I wouldn't have to train it out to Palatine at 8 a.m. since Ange was being my savior for the day. Her car was in the shop getting body repairs, but she was fairly sure she could pick it up since the mechanics told her they wouldn't start on it until later that week.

I had a 10:00 class Tuesday mornings, as well as a class at 1 and two more at 3:30 and 7 p.m.
So as to miss as little class as possible, I made a plan: I would drive my blacklisted car to my morning class from 10-11:15, drive back to the city and get to Ange's house by noon, and we could head out from there and get to G.H. by 1:00.

Remember that little saying, "Life is what happens while we're making plans"? Yeah...life started happening.

Nine-thirty Tuesday morning, I packed all my school stuff and legal paperwork and walked out to my car, only for it not to start. I hadn't driven it in over a week, and my poor Jetta has a tendency to sputter when it's been neglected for a few days. I couldn't get it to start, no matter how I tried, and the alarm was blaring and it was just ridiculous madness. Damn. And I really hated missing that class! My Aristotle! My Voltaire!

As I sat in the car banging my head against the steering wheel, Ange rang. She told me that the shop had actually begun working on her van, but she could get a rental car free of charge since the damage was not her fault and insurance was covering the repairs. Phew! I was worried for a moment. So now the plan was for me to hop a bus to her house since the rental company would be dropping off a car at her place within the hour or so.

I went back inside my house to lighten my load and was getting ready when Ange called me back. The rental company apparently wouldn't have any vehicles ready until 1, the time when I was supposed to be in the court house. She apologized--but it wasn't her fault; I'd asked last minute and hey, shit happens. I appreciated the fact that she even considered driving me out on such short notice.

After we hung up, I went into panic mode. It was now well after 11 and I had to be in Glendale Heights--a 40-minute drive--in less than two hours. How the fuck was I going to manage this one?

I started by calling and texting my Chicago friends with vehicles whom I knew weren't working. There were very few people who fit into all three categories, and even fewer who answered their phones. My mind was racing at this point. I would have gladly risked driving out to G.H. if my vehicle would operate.

Frantically, I called the courthouse. "Can I, um, have a continuance on my case?" I sheepishly asked.

"When is it?" the operater asked.

"In an hour," I replied.

"Uh, yeah, no. For a continuance you have to call at least four days in advance."

"Okay. Well, I live in the city and I'm having problems with transportation...is it okay if I get there at like one-thirt--"

"No, no," he interrupted me. "They close the doors promptly at 1 p.m., and if you're not in, you're not in."

"So would I have a warrant for my arrest then?"

"Most likely, yes, that's what would happen--failure to appear."

I hung up, going out of my mind. It was 12:10. If I were to drive out there or get a ride, I should have been on the road right now! Maybe I can take the Metra out there, I thought. But which stop was it? Would I be able to find a cab to drive me from the station? God damn, it takes about 25 minutes for me to get from my house to the Ogilvie station downtown...How in the world...

Crying, frustrated, freaked out, internally screaming, and having a panic attack simultaneously, I flipped open my laptop. I scanned the Metra map routes and could not make the connection as to which stop I should get off of, and none of them were leaving at any suitable time. That was when I started praying: God, I know I haven't talked to you in a while, and I'm not even sure what's been going on in my spiritual life or what or how I believe, but I really really really need to fix this situation, and I promise...

You know the drill.

Fuck.

Natalie was online via Gmail, as always. "Know anyone who's not at work who can give me a ride to the suburbs?" I quipped, dejectedly.

"Aw, I'd drive you if I weren't working," she said. "What's up?" I told her the situation.

"Oh. Well, you can take my car," she said. "Look it up on CTA and come get it. But hurry...you might still make it!"

I think my heart stopped.

"OMG SRSLY?" In two seconds I looked up the fasted route from my house to her work. Sweet. The Kedzie bus, three blocks away, would take me straight down to Natalie's neighborhood. "K I'M ON THE WAY SEE YOU SOON!"

The bus was passing my stop in about six minutes--it was a ten-minute brisk walk away. I ran the entire way there, sweating, in my Laura Petrie un-runnable dressy flats and capris, stupid heavy Jansport messenger bag with schoolbooks knocking the wind out of me with each stride. My makeup was smeared and I looked a HOT MESS.

But I made it.

I was in the parking lot of her workplace at 12:33. Compared to my disheveled self, Natalie was the picture of peace and poise. "Aw, no tears," she told me, and kissed my cheek. "Here, I ran home and got you some celery sticks to snack on since it's around lunchtime and you probably haven't eaten." She had punched the courthouse address, 300 E. Fullerton Ave., into the GPS, which showed an arrival time of 1:05, and sent me on my way. Okay, this is doable, I thought to myself. I'm sure I can get in if I arrive by then. At least I can talk to the people there and they can see I showed up. All I could think of as I drove was how much I loved my Nat.


All should have been fine...but let's just say I didn't know how to use the GPS and the little car on the screen wasn't moving with me. I was to take 55 S and get off at Cicero; I missed Cicero and had to go several miles before I could turn around. Fuck me! I drove back north on 55 and took Cicero up to 290E like I should have initially. It's okay, this is only a few minutes of a delay, I lied to myself.

At the 88/290/294 split, the text directions I read off the screen indicated to keep right. I didn't know if that meant simply keep right onto 290, or keep right right onto...294. 290 crosses with 355, I know, but isn't that far away closer to Schaumburg? Well, 294 meets 355, right? Fuck! Where the fuck is Glendale Heights on the map? ...and let's just say I headed due north on 294 toward O-fucking-Hare. I couldn't get off until River Road, and everyone knows that that street is way the fuck NOT where I was supposed to be.

By the time I got my shit together and arrived in Glendale Heights (after missing Fullerton Avenue, of course), it was...2:14 when I parked Natalie's car.

Two-fucking-fourteen.

I was fucked.

I walked into the courtroom (which was NOT locked or anything!) just in time to hear the judge say, "Well, that concludes our traffic hearings--court will adjourn for 15 minutes and we'll begin the trials."

I almost died.

I approached another self-important-looking-attorney-man in the rear of the room and told him I just got there. He pointed to a blonde woman who was packing up her massive stack of thousands of court files. I caught her just as she was walking back to the chambers and told her who I was. She gave me my file and told me to go back to that same man, who happened to be the DA. Or County Attorney, Commonwealth Attorney--whatever. I don't know the suburbs.

Explaining the story to him, he said, "Okay, well since it's late, if you just make a plea of guilty we can wrap this up right now--it's much less of a hassle than going to trial. You have the whole thing straightened out with the Secretary of State, right?"

"Yes," I told him confidently. I'll take a $3000 fine over a warrant for my arrest any day.

"All righty," he said, making a few marks. "Take this to that lady up there and she'll get you out of here. We'll issue you a supervision and you'll be fine--no points on your record or anything."

No shit? He didn't even want to look at my paperwork

The jovial clerk lady I spoke to saw on my ticket that I'd paid the $300 bond at the time of the citation, and said, "Okay, you've paid in full. You're free to go."


What.


All that hassle, all that stress, all those tears, all that worry...only to walk into court over an hour late, and be in and out in under four minutes and not have to pay anything in addition?

And to think, if I hadn't made it, I'd have a warrant issued and infinitely more problems. It worked out to be so simple.


I breathed a million breaths of relief, filled the fuck out of Natalie's gas tank, and headed back to the city.



Stay tuned: Suburban court date #2 is still to come...