Over the last few weeks I slowly filled every requirement to satisfy my plea bargain.  The highlight, on page 4, was getting my fingerprints taken at the police station.  The page required not only my fingerprints, but also the name, badge number, phone number, etc. of the fingerprinting officer.  After I gave my plea packet to the receptionist through the sound-proof glass, I watched about four different officers pass it around like a bad report card and scowl through it, helping each other sound out the words they didn't understand.  That's what it looked like anyway. 

Finally, after I had purchased and almost finished a diet coke, a cop led me back to the holding cell to take my fingerprints.  He could have just pointed to the ink pad and said, "Knock yourself out" but instead, because I am not a big boy, he literally held my hand throughout the whole process.  I felt like Hellen Keller.  He took my hand like I had never used it before and put it on the ink, and then on the paper.  Repeat.  Crap, the middle one smeared.  Let's do that one again.  Oops, we just ran out of space and forgot the thumbs.  Let's put those in the margin.  By the time it was over, my piece of paper looked like it had been attacked by an autistic kindergardner on art day. 

After finishing that and cutting a check for $2800, I mailed it off to my laywer.  Friday, not more than ten minutes after I finished my last lecture, my laywer called.  "Hey, call into the court room."  I got the number and was quickly on the phone with the judge.  I agreed to waive about three hundred more rights than I was ever aware I had, and then came the magic words, "Alright then I find you guilty."  I don't know what was wrong with him, but when he started reading my sentence (Items A-L on my plea bargain or whatever, mentioned previously) his voice changed and he started rattling them off like my flight on Southwest was about to take off.  "...Please be sure all items are secured beneath the seat in front of you, and make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in the upright and locked position."  You know how they have that swing in their voice when they say that?  Well, that's how I got sentenced. 

When it was over my lawyer called. 

Me: "What the hell was that?  I didn't expect the whole thing to take 8 minutes."

Lawyer Bill: "That's about the fastest I've ever seen it done.  This guy was a substitute judge."

Me: "I felt like he was trying to sell me a car."

When I got off the phone, I didn't feel the slightest bit more guilty than I had an hour before.  Not nearly as guilty as the time I confessed to my bishop about jerking off in the church bathroom.  Either way, next time you get dumped over the phone, stop whining and remember that that's how I got sentenced to jail.