Courtroom Confession #2

So Courtroom Confessions was a hit--I'm not gonna lie--it wasn't a BIG hit, but it was good enough for me to continue to my next story...

This isn't so much a courtroom confession as it is a ridiculous occurrence in rural Montana. Any friends of mine who were on facebook with me three years ago may remember this story--yes, I am repeating myself, but this is a story that needs to be told to others. Plus, the ACTUAL story about my most recent experience is so much more interesting than these others and I really want you to be ready for it. Plus, I don't know HOW I am going to make it funny for you. This material doesn't [always] write itself you know.

So we are driving from rural Montana (or MonFreakintana, for those of you who have been following) back to...rural Montana (let's be honest--there is ONLY rural Montana--that's the selling point!) and it was getting late. When it is late and my husband is driving, my critique of his abilities increases and I become a full-on backseat driver. Okay, I'm exaggerating (don't I always?!), but I WAS paying close attention and pushing my fake-passenger-seat-driver's-ed-brake and holding on to my "Oh S#!t" handle whenever I felt he needed that extra guidance. I know--YOU'RE WELCOME, husband!

So imagine my surprise when I hadn't needed to employ that fictitious brake or helpful handle for a good hour. Imagine my further surprise when I saw flashing lights behind us. I felt certain that there was an escaped convict running a muck in the next town or a bank robbery in progress (Wild West style of course), so when my husband pulled over and the lights followed I could not figure out why. The only item of note was when he passed the guy in front of him. And then the guy in front of him. And finally, the guy in front of him. This third guy was swerving all over the place and couldn't decide if he wanted to do the speed limit or do twenty UNDER the speed limit. I hate passing--I really do, but as I was thinking that I hated the fact that he was passing, I noted that not only was number three completely necessary (we thought that he may be drunk--I guess WE should have called and reported HIM), he passed each car safely and followed the rules. I on the other hand have to have a damn good reason to do it and even then, I hold my breath until it's over and we are safe. Reassuring for those of you who allow(ed) me to drive your children around town, I know, but I've been this way since 2003.

I'm sure most of you wonder how I could POSSIBLY know the year that this happened to me. I know this because I was driving to work when I was pregnant with my first child and I tried to pass a guy in a Lamborghini. I had an SUV at the time. I checked my mirrors, put on my blinker, checked my mirrors again, and decided to pass. Only, Mr. Mid-life-crisis did not like the fact that a woman in an SUV was trying to pass his sports car, so he wouldn't let me back in. I slowed, he slowed. I went faster, he went faster. I almost drove off the road. I'll never forget his evil ugly face (this is me being mean--I seriously felt like I was in a Steven King novel) and the evil smirk he gave me each time I tried to get back to safety. I finally pulled over on the wrong side of the road and he kept going. I waited about ten minutes and continued on to school .Since that time, I have been known to follow farmers on tractors going five, hundred-year-old-women going ten, and bicyclists for fear of killing myself or someone else. I remember passing someone ONCE in the last two years and it was because I was late to get my kids off of the bus. Saved me thirty-two seconds.

Back to the lights. The police officer came up to the window and asked, "Do you know why I stopped you?" to which I vehemently stated "NO!"  Since he was not actually talking to ME, my husband shot me a look and answered for himself. Evidently, in rural Montana towns it is okay to accuse people of violating a traffic law simply by calling and complaining--not with any proof--just a he said she said sort of thing. Not only is this OKAY, the perpetrator (in this case, my husband) is guilty until proven innocent. It would seem that car number three that he passed (you know--Drunky McDrunkerson) called the police and told them that my husband was driving erratically and passing on a solid. I imagine that in his...state...what was clearly a dotted line may have APPEARED to be solid to his drunk eyes, but the officer was obligated to give the ticket because of the call. even AFTER he admitted that he did not see my husband do ANYTHING wrong.

Let me get this straight, Montana. Under this rule, a jilted boy/girl friend could call you and accuse their ex (out of spite) of not stopping at a stop sign or passing illegally or whatever, and they will get a ticket?! How does this make ANY sense?! Don't get me wrong--there was a time in my life when I would have LOVED this option for revenge, but laws should help to prevent crazies like me from being allowed to falsely accuse someone of something that they did not do. Right?

The officer was quite apologetic (as he SHOULD have been!) and told us that all my husband had to do was show up in court to fight the ticket and if the officer didn't show up, the ticket would be dismissed. The court in this case is not the issue--the SYSTEM is. My husband was able to go right into the court (that was about an hour and a half away, on a WORK day, first thing in the morning) and the ticket was dismissed within minutes, because the officer didn't show up for court. Just like he promised. My issue is, why should anyone be inconvenienced by something like this? What if my husband COULDN'T go to court that day? Garbage, I know. Too bad I can't find Lamborghini guy and call in a report on him. Only HE actually DESERVED it!

Do you know of any wacky laws in your state? Have you ever been falsely accused of something? Stay tuned tomorrow (or the next day...) for my third installment of Courtroom Confessions when I will actually tell the story that I set out to tell the first time. I know--you are on the edge of your seat...me too!