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It’s been six months since I wrote about getting a speeding ticket (“Watch out for the fuzz”). Last week I finally had my day in court.

My ticket, for doing 101 km in a 70 zone, was for $230, and the cop that stopped me actually encouraged me to take it to court. Police constables have the discretion to lower a fine, but he explained that he was hesitant to do so because it makes police look bad if they go around reducing fines all the time. So, instead, I had to wait 6 months and meet with the prosecutor and the judge.

I thought about taking the kids with me — but decided it would probably be better to get a sitter. I’ve never been to court, but leaving the kids at home was the right choice. I should have thought a bit more about how to dress.

When you go to traffic court, you enter the courtroom and meet briefly with the prosecutor who reviews your situation and your driving record and asks how you plan to plead. And then she likely offers you a deal. In my case, I told her I planned to plead guilty but would like the charge reduced. Because I have a clean record, she offered to reduce my fine from $230 fine to $60. Simple as that, but not before I got a lecture about my attire.

The prosecutor was buttoned up and tightly wound. I’ve seen enough court case news coverage and enough movies to know that the defender’s first step is to clean up nice. So, why I chose to wear shorts, a baseball cap, and flip flops, in hindsight, is beyond me. And you know, I don’t think I’ve ever really heard them flip and flop so loudly as when I walked up the aisle toward her. “You’re entering a court of law, not a bar room,” said she. “Wouldn’t you think you would want to put your best foot forward for the judge?”

“Of course. And here it is.” I imagined myself saying, as my non-bunioned foot imaginarily slid closer toward her.

Instead, I shrunk about three inches and incoherently mumbled something vaguely apologetic. She told me that once I was called to the stand I’d need to start by apologizing to the judge. I told her I could do that. Then I removed my hat, at her strong suggestion and shuffled back to a find a seat while me and the rest of the accused waited for the proceedings to begin.

The officer who gave me a ticket came in. He was looking around for a seat, so I said, “You might as well sit next to me, we’re here for the same reason.” We both laughed. Then he sat next to me and quietly gave me his take on speeding tickets. He told me, you’re always better taking them to court because they almost always get reduced and a lot of times the police officer doesn’t show up, which means the charge is thrown out.  That’s nice and everything, but it does strike me that if he used his discretion to reduce the fine in the first place, it wouldn’t waste his time, the prosecutor’s time, or the judge’s time. Of course, if I kept my speed down in the first place, I guess it would have saved all of us some time, too.

After a little while, the judge came in. She didn’t look a day older than thirty. She opened by letting us know that she’d never been a good Girl Scout (their motto is always be prepared). She’d forgotten her proceedings, so she needed to go back to chambers and get them. Ahh. She was human.

So, when my case came up and I got to the stand, I said this: “I’d like to start by apologizing to the court for my attire.”

The judge looked at the prosecutor and rolled here eyes. Proper court attire was clearly a bigger issue for the prosecutor than for the judge.

And so I continued, “I came straight from work and I didn’t have a chance to change.”

“What do you do?” She asked.

“I’m a stay-at-home dad.”

The judge smirked and continued on with the rest of the proceedings, which finished with her officially declaring me guilty as charged. Then she asked me how many kids I have and with a note of admiration said “Good for you.”

Case closed.

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