DAVID SILVA
My ex-wife and I maintained a fairly amiable relationship after our
divorce. We'd call each other every now and then to see how things
were going. I'd ask her about her new job as a criminal defense
attorney, and she'd ask me how I was doing at the paper.
It was during one of those calls that I grumbled to Melinda about
the traffic ticket I'd just received. I had made a left turn in
downtown Santa Ana, and instantly was pulled over by a motorcycle
cop. I asked him what I had done wrong and he pointed toward a
collection of traffic signs above the light at the intersection. Two
rows down from the "No U-turn" sign, between the "Do Not Block
Intersection" and the "Trucks Over 2,000 Pounds Prohibited" signs and
above the "Left Turn On Arrow Only" sign was a square missive the
size of a bathroom tile that read "No Left Turn Between 8 A.M. and 7
P.M."
"Can't you read?" the officer asked rhetorically as he wrote my
ticket.
"The thing is," I told Melinda, "I just had that speeding ticket.
My insurance premiums are going to kill me now."
"Well, mail the ticket to me," she said. "I'll see what I can do."
"There's nothing to do," I replied. "I'll just pay it and be done
with it."
"Well, let me see what I can do," she insisted. "At the least I'll
save you some time in court. I'm there every day, anyway."
Melinda had offered to do the same when I got my speeding ticket,
and I had refused. The result was a Saturday spent in traffic
"comedy" school, listening to a man called "The Vehicular Laugh
Slaughterer" punctuate all of his bad jokes by honking a bicycle
horn.
I mailed the left-turn ticket to Melinda's office. A month later,
I called her to ask about it.
"Oh, yeah, I was going to tell you. I got swamped at work so I
just extended the due date a month," she said.
"Are you sure that's smart?" I asked nervously. "Maybe I should
just pay the money now. I'm going to have to, anyway."
"No, don't worry about it," she said. "I'll handle it next month,
no sweat."
The month went by and again I asked her about the ticket.
"I had to extend it again -- it's been a busy month," she said.
"Look, Melinda, I don't want to get pulled over one day and
arrested for an outstanding ticket," I said. "Let me just pay the
thing."
"David, did you go to law school? Did you take the bar? I know
what I'm doing, OK?"
A few weeks later, Melinda called to tell me the ticket issue was
resolved.
"Fantastic!" I said. "Great job!"
"Well, it wasn't me, to be honest. I couldn't make it to court
