2002-08-13 - 12:46 a.m.
This weekend I returned to Sarasota for twenty hours for a final get together with my former roommates Drew and Maria, who are going to law school next year in D.C. and New York, respectively, and we were joined by our former roommate Giev, who will be returning to New College since he didn’t finish his thesis last semester. I should say that Maria did not actually live in our room last year, but was such a regular that I dubbed her the ’fifth roommate,’ a title she accepted. Drew once said that ’his fantasy’ was for her to sleep on our couch or in our air-conditioning closet in exchange for her services as our maid. It was a thought emblematic of their friendship.
Anyway, I don’t feel like recording it, as entertaining as that would probably come out. I’m way to stressed out about something else, anyway. On my drive up to Maryland for archaeology field school, I sped through Virginia on I-95, and there was pulled over by cop. He gave me a ticket, and informed me that I was going so fast (21 miles above the speed limit or 65) that the charge was reckless driving. I didn’t think to much of it, and only now as the deadline written on my citation approaches have I read the ticket more closely. I call the number on it at 4:30 yesterday, Monday, and a cheerful recorded voice informs me, "If you are charged with reckless driving, you MUST appear in court. Failure to appear in court may result in a warrant being issued for your arrest."
Just fucking great.
And what’s the date on the citation? August 27, the Tuesday of the first week of classes, also the date of the first Catalyst meeting of the year. Just fucking great. Why does Virginia have nation’s strictest traffic laws and enforcement? And why did I have to be rushing to archaeology field school on that particular stretch of highway on that Sunday morning? I don’t know if I should, or if I can hire a lawyer, or if I can get the date changed to sometime that it wouldn’t fuck what actual plans I have for my life to drive fourteen hours up I-95 and back, again, for God only knows what purpose. Maybe they’ll throw me in jail, in this rural county of the commonwealth. Does anyone else see the irony that to answer a charge that I was driving recklessly on I-95, I’m being told I will probably have to drive another 28 hours on it? I see it, but I can’t really find it funny.
