About a week ago I got my plea agreement for my DUI in the mail. It's about as thick as a National Geographic and reads like the Old Testament; I haven't even laid eyes on the last few pages yet. It has  many important looking signatures and stamps, which have since run from using it as a coaster for my Diet Cokes. The best news on page 1 is that at 4:00 pm on December 22nd, I have to call into the Scottsdale courthouse to 'appear by phone' for my case. This is a dangerous scenario for many reasons, primarily because of my tendency to be informal when on the phone, and to litter my vocabulary with F-bombs. Do I call on the office phone or my cell? Let's see...

Cell Phone Conference:

I bet I'll be right middle of that phone call when I hear those five quick little beeps, meaning that my call has been dropped. Meanwhile, as I try to get service and call back, the awkward silence in the Scottsdale courtroom becomes increasingly insurmountable until the judge gets fed up enough to sentence me to the maximum penalties and slam his gavel. While we're on the topic, I also don't think it's a really good idea to have a judge's number anywhere in my phone, period. I'll just get into an argument at the bar about the legality of this or that, pull out my phone, and say, "I know how we can settle this once and for all." That's probably a great way to get a bench warrant.

Land Line Conference:

If I use a land line it would have to be the one in the office that I share with 6 other grad students. The chances of the call getting cut off or dropped are far less, but the chances of the judge accidentally getting told to "shut up you fudgepacker" by one my associates shouting at the other, go up exponentially. Or, another bad scenario: Imagine sitting in the back of a courtroom listening on speakerphone to the judge and I work it out, when you hear another phone pick up on the line and start dialing 18 numbers (or however many you need) to call home and make sure the tigers are staying away from the goats or whatever the hell they call home to talk about.

Both options have their drawbacks.

Page 2 of my plea agreement is even better. I have a list of requirements ranging from A-L, telling me what I have to do, or more to the point - pay. I think my "plea bargain" may be somewhat misnomered when my original $250 fine somehow increases over 1000% and comes to a page 2 total of $2878.00... that's 3 spring breaks, or a car. That's not a bargain. That's elephant tusk rape. The financial finesse used on this page is unrivaled, with arbitrary sums like (F): "pay a fine of $250 plus a $23.00 sentence enhancement and 80% surcharges = $473.00" I haven't quite figured out what the 80% surcharge is for, I guess it costs them $200 to have a guy walk across the street and cash my $250 check. And the $23.00 sentence enhancement, do I get like extra jail restroom tickets? Does that cover my shank? God only knows.

So, at this point, I owe almost three grand just before Christmas (which will max out one of my credit cards) with the only way to pay it back being the TA position I applied for this Spring. Then I get this email:

Perfect. I think I have forgotten to mention that the project I was on with the Department of Defense and all those other fancy universities and agencies... The funding never came through. So there was five grand and a lot of money an hour down the hole. Just as I had finished chalking up plans for snaking things from my dad's house and selling them on Ebay to pay my fines, I got the following two emails:

Looks like I'll have to postpone the cat-burglary for a rainy day in the future. Note the departmental listserve professionalism from the emotiocon.

Besides all the fines that go along with the plea bargain is the limitless maze of confusion between two DMV's, two court systems, Virginia's alcohol awareness program (VASAP), and the Scottsdale Justice Services. It's eerily reminiscent of the fiasco I went through in order to get my car out of impound back in Arizona. With some new foresight, I decided that a good thing to do for basically the first time in my life, was to change my license to reflect where I actually live. A phonecall to the DMV relieved one of my growing concerns, that my license was even still valid. I had no points, no evidence of a DUI; I was good to go. I changed my address over the phone and drove to the DMV to have a new one printed up.

I got my waiting number and sat down to fill out the form. Question 6: "Have you ever fainted / blacked out / lost consciousness?" I chuckled and shook my head as I filled in the box marked 'NO.' The rest went swimmingly until the question, "Is your license now or has it ever been suspended, restricted, or revoked in this state or any other?" Hmmmmmm. I read the fine print at the bottom to see the legal implications of my possibly forthcoming memory failure. Which box I checked remains a question mark for now. When my number was called, I walked up and handed over my form. I started getting more and more nervous as it took far more keystrokes than anticipated to hit "print," ...and this lady was a little too old to be in a chatroom.

I actually broke a sweat when, after a few minutes, another lady walked up behind the one serving me and put another form between us. I cocked my head and started reading the upside down words. This was about what I saw:

(OFFICIAL DMV HEADING)

Date: 12/18/2006

Customer Name: PERRY
Customer Number: Txx-xx-xxxx
Customer Address: XXX Tee St.

A C K N O W L E D G E M E N T

This acknowledges receipt of your...

And right then, right as I get to the juice, she picks up the paper and keeps typing. Now I'm sweating bullets because I'm sure it's going to be something like, "This acknowledges receipt of your DUI, and since you (may or may not have) checked that little box, you're fucked and we caught you good." ...And then going on to explain how I'll find out first hand why it's called the penal system.

It turned out to be my voter registration form. *Score* I go down to the far end of the counter, and wait for my license with all the 16 year olds and their parents.

"Mike Perry" Finally, it was ready. I walked up with my hand out so she could give me my license and a high five all at once. Wishful thinking. "Sit in that chair and take your hat off." I did so as I explained to her that I just wanted her to use the old picture even though I look like an irritated terrorist in it. All she said was, "Nope. Smile." I started laughing and she took my picture. I'm unshaven, my hair is lopsided which makes my head look like a parallelogram (except for the one Alfalfa sprout sticking straight up in the middle of my head), my eyes are bloodshot, and my face is red. So... I look like a drunk.

Touché , DMV, Touché.