Dead Man's Honda

His eyes flickered from intense focus to shivering uncertainty and confusion. They were red and looked tired.

“So you’re here for an expungement?” I asked at the worker’s rights clinic where I was volunteering on Saturday.

“Yeah….I just heard you get your criminal record cleaned up here…” he answered.

“Well, we might be able to help you with an expungement but it depends on a few criterion,” I responded, trying to follow his ever-changing line of vision. I then explained the process to him---you can’t get your criminal record “cleaned up” if you committed a felony or served prison time. I then discovered, unfortunately, that he had both on his record.

"What was the violation code?” I asked, filling out a form.

“Well, I assaulted a police officer with a deadly weapon,” he answered.

Oh crap. I thought, hoping he didn’t get so upset about the results of this meeting that he decided to stalk and kill me later.

I then explained that he could file for a certificate of rehabilitation, but he couldn’t get the felony off of his record.

Four times.

Each time I finished explaining he responded with:

“But I just want it so like, if I wanna get a job, they can’t pull up my record and see that….”

A piece of my heart ached for the man’s situation and the desperation leaking through his voice. Scenes from Les Miserables blinked through my head.

After our meeting he had to fill out a form that asks “Why did you come into the clinic today?”

His response?

“For a sponge.”

Something about that encounter made me think of the brothers who asked for seats at either side of Christ. Jesus said that they didn’t know what it was they were asking.

The man didn’t know what he came to the clinic to get---a sponge, a clean record, a piece of paper freeing him from his past. But he had an idea of what he wanted the outcome to be.

I think sometimes we come to God with requests for an outcome, but really have no idea what it is we are asking. We have an idea of what we want, but if we only grasped the seriousness, the ludicrousness, the futility of what we were requesting, we might not ask it.

The best part about it, I think, is that even though we are so unclear about what it is we need from him, and half the time ask the wrong questions, he still listens.

This woman looks, how I occassionally feel. :-)

After four years of dating....my younger sister and Sam are finally getting married.....They look excited, right? :-)

1. Who ever got converted to anything (religion, political ideology, moral conviction) by a bumper sticker?

2. My car is not religiously defined. She does not have the moral fortitude to evangelize anything.

3. Men who ride motorcycles wearing camoflage and reflector vests are unclear on the concept.

4. A single house has signs saying: "Impeach Bush", "No Trespassing", "Beware of Dog: Will ATTACK" and the best sign, on the most prominant place of the property: "Give Peace a Chance".

5. The man who wrote the book "Black Dhalia" (now a movie about the notorious murder) stated on NPR: "I don't watch T.V. I don't engge in culture. I lie on my bed, in the dark, and obsess about women."

It was the first time I ever heard a moment of extremely awkward silence on that station.

To me this was both a touchingly sweet and hilarious way to console the U.S. about 9/11:

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/09/11/world/africa/11kenya.html?_r=1&ref=world&oref=slogin

“What you did to help us will not be forgotten,” said the new American ambassador to Kenya, Michael E. Ranneberger.

The Masai elders, some sitting in monkey skin jackets, beamed.

“We did what we knew best,” said an elder, Mzee ole Yiamboi. “The handkerchief we give to people to wipe their tears with is a cow.” - NY Times.com

Lawyer: "Hi Doe, I need some help. How do you say 'If you run this story we're going to sue your f-ing asses?' in legal-speak?"

Ok so it's not Honda's first ticket. It's her first SPEEDING ticket. She and I did receive a ticket last year for going too slowly through a canyon that was on fire. Fortunately, the courts saw (via US mail) how ludicrous that ticket was and we were vindicated.

Today I received my first speeding ticket.

For going 80 on a freeway in the middle of nowhere. I believe the officer was fearful I was going to hit a tumble weed or possibly a cow if it could get over the fences along the freeway. Whatever his reason for guarding the speeds of desolate road, the actual speed limit was 70. I drove the rest of my journey going 65 mph--much to the chagrin of most of my fellow road warriors.

The interesting thing wasn't the ticket, but the officer's response to me.

First the guy pulled up beside me and with his "you! get out of the gene pool!" look and yanked his thumb for me to follow him to the side of the road. So much for blaring lights.

For as blank as the rode was this morning, I could have stopped in the middle of the freeway but I went through the motions of pulling over to the side of the dusty, weed-filled road.

When I rolled down the window the scowling officer poked his head down into my passenger side window. The first thing out of his mouth?

"How old are you?" he asked, apparently surprised. So I look young. But not too young to drive a car. But perhaps I look too young to drive my car. According to my friends, my car-type is known for being the do-no-good-ers vehicle of choice.

"What'd I do?" I asked, genuinely surprised at my situation. Were my tags overdue?

"You were speeding. Hold on...." he took off, wrote me the ticket and then returned to say:

"I lessened it by nine."

"Nine what?" (points?)

He looked surprised.

"I've never received a speeding ticket before." I added with a sheepish look. He looked surprised and genuinely guilt-ridden.

"I dropped it down by nine miles per hour." he said. Sooo...did I get a ticket for going 1 mph over the speed limit?

"Don't worry, we all do it," he said sympathetically. I cocked my head in confusion. "You just get distracted and you don't realize how fast you're going..." he continued.

What is this, confession? I wondered snidely.

Then the kicker:

He patted my arm (do I know you?!) and said:

"Forgive me sweetheart, I'm just doing my job."

Endearing, maybe. Yet odd. It wasn't like I was crying.

Perhaps he felt badly for pulling over a female driving a car that looked like it had lost every illegal drag race in the state. Perhaps he thought he was going to make a drug bust on a perfectly beat-up vehicle and ended up dissapointed at the small woman whose day he ruined. Perhaps he felt badly for being the first person to give me a ticket.

My main thought after driving off was, wouldn't it be strange to do a job where you felt the need to say "Forgive me, I'm just doing my job?"

I don't mean to extrapolate beyond reasonable parameters here, (I deserved what I received) but isn't that the catch-phrase of generations of evil-doing? Not the action of pulling me over---but rather the mentality behind his words.