I feel compelled to tell you, Internet, that the strategy of defending a speeding ticket by questioning the testing of the radar, calibration of the tuning forks, etc., isn’t foolproof.

The first chink in your armor will come when the officer actually shows up. It doesn’t help if the judge then calls your case first, even though your name was way low in alphabetical order, as a courtesy to the officer.

It’s OK, you think to yourself, I’ll get him with the logbook, I’ll get him with the logbook.

That was my rationale. I had multiple copies of case law printed out and 40 pages of questions to ask, but I wouldn’t have to use them unless the logbook thing didn’t pan out. If the officer did produce a logbook, at least I would be feeling more comfortable asking questions, because I warmed up with the logbook thing.

But there was no way the officer had his logbook with him. And therefore he would be unable to show me where he wrote down what time he tested his radar before and after pulling me over. So the judge would have to dismiss my case, right?

Except not. That nice judge, who threw out cases right and left two weeks ago, didn’t go for it. He was satisfied when the officer said, “We don’t log that.” And neither the judge nor the officer were particularly amused by my line of questioning as to the proper calibration of the radar’s tuning forks.

The judge actually had the tuning forks’ calibration certification on file.

Right. This wasn’t going to work. (Your honor, I have copies of case law here that convinced me the prosecution would have no case against me, perhaps you’ll come to the same conclusion?)

The judge asks me what I remember about that day. (Note: The officer already has said he remembers nothing, and has read from his report.) I hesitated, remembering some online advice not to testify no matter what, because the prosecution will use it against you. (Assuming there is a prosecutor, which as I’ve mentioned, there was not.)

It wouldn’t have mattered. I could have said, “I was driving along, he pulled me over, I am certain I wasn’t speeding.” But I heard the guy at the tail end of the previous session making a similar argument, with only the officer’s affidavit to say otherwise, and the judge said, “I think the burden of proof is with the officer here.”

Probably what he meant was, “I am going to rule against you, in favor of this piece of paper, because I believe the officer who checked these boxes more than I believe you, and therefore he has satisfied the burden of proof.”

But for a judge to misuse the expression “burden of proof” thusly? The burden of proof is always with the prosecution (in this case, the officer), is it not? This is America, people! Innocent until proven guilty? Prove beyond reasonable doubt? Ring any bells?

No matter what I said, the judge wasn’t going to rule in my favor at this point. Perhaps it was the wrong strategy to say, “Don’t I have the right not to testify against myself?”

Because the judge said, “No, you don’t.”

“Isn’t that, um, in the constitution?” (Now, I’m no legal scholar, but I didn’t even have to look that up. It’s amendment No. 5)

“This isn’t a criminal case.” (So accused criminals have rights that accused speeders do not?)

Defeated, but clinging to my dignity, I open my mouth to say, “I was driving along…” and the judge rephrases. “Well, you don’t have to testify, if you don’t want to. But you don’t have the right not to.”

Whatever. He ruled against me. I handed my check for $113 to those bitchy clerks I’ve come to know so well. And hope never to lay eyes on again for the rest of my life.

My trial isn’t for another two weeks, but I went to traffic court this morning to see what it’s like at contested hearings.

Surprise, it’s not much different than the mitigation hearings. No police officers were there to testify and there was no prosecutor.

Two lucky dogs had their cases dismissed because of court/police error. One dude put in a request for discovery and never received anything. Bam. Dismissed. Another dude had his affidavit written for a driver named Jessica Smith. (Last name has been changed, because I don’t remember what it actually was. Pretty sure it was Jessica, though.) Bam. Dismissed.

One guy had a pretty good story. He was cited for following too closely. The judge said, “My guess is you were following so closely you tapped the car in front of you?” (Um, objection, leading the witness?) The guy didn’t fall for it. He said, “No, that’s why I’m contesting it.”

He was in the left lane, slowing down already for the traffic in front of him. A car (“A Suburban or some kind of SUV, with Canadian plates” – nice touch) moved from the right lane into his lane without signaling. He didn’t have time to slow down enough, so he hit it. The trooper who cited him wasn’t there at the time of the accident, so he didn’t know … and the defendant said the Canadian kept changing his story and refused to go on the record with the insurance company. Dismissed.

I have subpoenaed my officer … but I did it wrong. So stupid, but I blame the bitchy girls behind the counter. Granted, I’m sure they deal with a lot of scuzzy people, but I am not one of those people, and when I ask polite, educated questions, they treat me like I’m a moron, and a jerk.

Perhaps I deserve it, because I didn’t realize that the handwritten form wasn’t actually the subpoena. I filled it out and walked it across the hall to the Sheriff’s Office. Because along with the form she slapped down on the counter, the bitchy girl gave me a page of instructions on how to serve the subpoena, including that you can give it to the Sheriff’s Office if the officer is a Sheriff’s deputy. She didn’t say I was supposed to give her back the form to be processed before I did that. What can I say? I let the bitchy clerk girl frazzle me.

My greatest wish is that the officer doesn’t show, but for this to work in my favor, I have to prove that I subpoenaed him, and apparently, I haven’t. So I go back to the bitchy girls and ask if there’s any confirmation in my file that he was subpoenaed, and I am treated like the idiot that I am for doing it wrong. The bitchy girl insists that they wouldn’t have taken the form from me across the hall, because they charge money to serve subpoenas.

I fill out a new form and have to go back on Monday to pick up the Official Subpoena and serve it myself so that it gets to the officer on time. I ask if I do that by walking it over to the Sheriff’s Office. Again with the “You’re an idiot” face, and she says, “Well, they charge for that and it will take two days. You have to serve it yourself.” Me: “How am I supposed to do that? Doesn’t he work at the Sheriff’s Office? It’s not like I have his home address.” She looks at me completely confused. I say “He’s a Sheriff’s deputy.”

Then it’s, “Ohhh, he’s a Sheriff’s deputy. I though you were talking about a state trooper…” Yes, bitch, that’s why I kept saying Sheriff’s deputy, and yes, they can issue tickets, too. “I forgot they were right across the hall,” she adds. For real?

A switch flips and suddenly she’s smiling at me. Why? She was only being mean to me because she thought I was stupid? Now she feels stupid, and is being nice to me to make up for it? She tells me that, yes, I can walk the subpoena over myself on Monday, and I probably should check and see what they did with the form I gave them two weeks ago.

And even though I know that it’s not me, it’s her, and even though it probably works to my advantage anyway if they think I’m stupid … my voice actually cracks as I explain the situation to the nice people at the Sheriff’s Office (aka The Jail). I try to imagine what Rob would do in my position. He’d open with, “Check this out, I filled out a form across the hall…”

Anyway, they found the original form, which was in the deputy’s box (It’s been there for two weeks. Surely, he’s already seen it.) and gave it back to me. Problem solved.

Oh, except that I realized, upon seeing the original form, that I spelled the officer’s name wrong on the new form.