Yeah, this is going to be a lot more than 2 parts. Part I may clear up some of the details if this seems confusing.

I got the speeding ticket in May of 2006. It’s a stretch of Bloomingdale Road in White Plains by the Westchester Mall where you just come off 287. There’s been construction and congestion on 287 for many years now, so on most days the traffic blows. This day in May, the traffic had been bad, and the people at the series of lights I had to pass through were not…cooperating. I finally got past a few near misses negotiating the turn off the Exit and onto Bloomingdale Road. I got through a light, past a minivan doing about 7 miles per hour, and started cruising. At the time I was VERY unfamiliar with this stretch of road, clueless about the impending speed trap. I rounded a soft turn and started up a hill and saw what I thought was a taxi. Unfortunately, it was a police car. The cop was hanging out with the radar gun on his hood. He stepped into the road and waved me over. No lights. No sirens. No excitement. Just a little “Gotcha Buddy” with a crook of his index finger.

Turns out I was doing 53 in a 30. That’s pretty bad, I admit. I mean, for this bit of road, 3 lanes in each direction, I figured it was at least 40, but I failed to see the signs that I now know are there. Lesson learned. Very sucky lesson learned. I got the ticket, requested a trial (recalling my good luck in Connecticut a few years ago – again, see Part I for the details), and started waiting.

Less than two weeks ago I received my court date in the mail. On the 12 month anniversary I was actually thinking I might have gotten away with it. Unfortunately for me, though, the wheels of justice may turn slow, but they definitely turn. I actually learned why they turn so slow, too. I will discuss that along with several other tidbits I picked up in a later Part.

I was kind of pissed. After 14 months of silence, the City of White Plains finally deigned to see me with only about 11 calendar days of advance notice. Further, the letter clearly stated that there would be no adjournments prior to this time. I had a moment of panic thinking that meant there would be no deals like in Connecticut, but then I looked up adjournment and found that it just means postponement of the trial date. I always thought that when they said “court is adjourned” in lawyer movies, it meant it was, you know, over. I guess it means something more like it’s over for now, but we’re “postponing” the juicy stuff until tomorrow.

My limited legal understanding aside, I was instructed to show up at 9:30am, so I left early, afraid of 287 traffic (thankfully, the location of the courthouse is nowhere near Bloomingdale Road). I made one crucial mistake. We have a new car which I probably neglected to mention. It is about 2 weeks old so it has picked up little of the detritus of mobile life such as child stains, Cheerios on the floor, or loose pocket change. It turns out that all the municipal lots in White Plains (there are many), along with all the street parking spaces, still have meters requiring change.

Eeeek! I had not a single quarter. But I located the court house and cruised two lots with more than 45 minutes to spare, so I knew I could figure something out. I found a Dunkin’ Donuts on Mamoroneck Avenue with an open space and ran in, hoping the expired meter would not catch any attention. The line was huge, and included 2 cops and a parking enforcement official about 6 patrons ahead of me. I crossed my fingers and waited my turn, watching from the corner of my eye when the fuzz exited with their Dunkin’ booty and passed my wheels. They didn’t seem to notice. Finally it was my turn and I ordered a medium coffee. Quick calculations told me this was the item and size that would yield the most potential change. I also asked the cashier three times if he could possibly spare some quarters. He feigned a lack of English the first two times. Having heard him conversing at length with the bottle blond in front of me, I persisted, and he finally scooped a few quarters, dimes and nickels from the tip cup and traded me for a buck.

Yeah. Great. I now had about an hour and a half of change. I spent somewhere between 2 and 3 hours in the Connecticut courthouse, so I knew this wouldn’t do. I thought about trying it, and if I got an overtime notice in the garage, well would that be more expensive than paying in advance? Would there be some sort of additional fine? I don’t know. I was getting a little ansty and wasn’t thinking too clearly.

I figured I’d try a branch of my bank across the street. But you see, my bank was recently purchased by another, bigger, bank. The bigger bank already had a branch nearby and had decided to close the one that was most convenient to my current circumstances. Can you feel my pain?

It was now 5 minutes to 9. I made the command decision to drive to a store with ample free parking where I now the owner. On a good day it’s about 5 minutes away. I raced off (not really, I was quite paranoid at this point and very carefully observing the posted speed limit). I got behind a senior-mobile of late 70s vintage doing 15 in a 30 and let loose a stream of curses. At 9:15 I was sprinting out of my friend’s dry cleaning shop with about 5 bucks in quarters.

On the way back up Old Mamaroneck Road (which merges onto Mamaroneck Road proper) I was behind a school bus. No joke. You really can’t make this stuff up.

Being quite familiar with parking by the courthouse, I made short work of finding a spot in the 3 hour section of the lot, pumping the meter to the max, and jogging up the street to the front entrance of the court house. I showed my letter to the guy at the desk and he pointed me to the back of a long line. I looked at the time on my cell phone. 9:27am.

Hot damn. I made it.

Sort of. More to come…