Intervention, Part 1

Last Saturday, I took part in an Intervention. Actually, the intervention was held in my honor. That's right. And just like an intervention, I wasn't aware it actually was an intervention until I got there. Let me start at the beginning.

Back in May, I received a traffic ticket. Not for speeding. It was officially for "disobeying a traffic signal" or in regular terms, running a red light.

I could go into this long tirade about how it wasn't really red and I decided to go ahead and turn left on the yellow arrow because there was another car licking my bumper and if I had stopped suddenly he probably would've rear-ended me. But I won't.

I knew as soon as I entered the intersection that I was going to get a ticket. Mainly because of the blue lights of the motorcycle officer who pulled out behind me. He was gracious and I knew there was no sense in arguing with him. Let's face it - there have been plenty of times I deserved a ticket and didn't get one. So even if I didn't quite think I deserved this one, I could take it and keep my mouth shut.

I then did the classy thing - I texted Husband to tell him about it instead of calling. In my defense, he was supposed to be in a meeting. But that's ok - he got me back a month or so later when he texted me to let me know he'd lost his wedding ring.

I did, however, call my insurance agent. After he assured me that yes, my rates would go up if a moving violation appeared on my record, I called Deputy Guy to see what my options would be. He told me how to keep it off my record through the regular channels, and like any good brother-in-law, offered to call the officer who issued the ticket and see if he could get it voided. But I didn't feel comfortable asking him to call in a favor for me.

Clearly I was delusional.

After a few phone calls, I found out that in order to keep this ticket off my record I could attend a Defensive Driving class. On a Saturday. In July. From 9am-3pm. Ugh.

After agonizing over it until the very moment I had to decide whether to just pay the ticket and allow my insurance go to up or take the class, I decided to take Defensive Driving. Surely it couldn't be that bad. I tried to tell myself that I might learn something new, something valuable.

Again, I must've been delusional.

Now, let me just say that our state is a bit "behind the times" when it comes to Defensive Driving. In other states I've lived in, you could go to a comedy club, dinner theatre, or even take the class online. (Not that I've ever had to take it, because I haven't.) Not here. Noooo. We have to be as back-woods as we possibly can, apparently. And when I dared ask the city clerk about the online version, she was offended that I even mentioned it. Apparently the judge doesn't care for the online version because "anyone can take it." Really? Is that a huge concern?

I don't know about you, but I don't ever recall hearing about gangs who take other people's online Defensive Driving classes for them. Oh, the humanity.

So the day finally came. Two agonizing months after getting the ticket, it was time. Husband was all set to hang with Chickster for the day, and I started off to my driving class. It was held in the city court, a small room in a downtown Police/Court building with about three parking spaces.

Even after having to park two blocks away, I arrived a full seven minutes before the class was to start and found the line to check in all the way to the door. Not the door of the court room. The outside door. The one that keeps the rain out and the A/C in.

As I stood in line, I got a glimpse of the people I was to spend the next several hours with. And it was pretty interesting. A lot of college students. Several normal-looking folks about my age. A few weird looking individuals. And surprisingly, several older people, one of which was quite vocal about his unhappiness at being in this class.

About 20 minutes later, everyone was checked in and settled. Or as settled as you can be in a small room packed with 85 people sitting on unpadded wooden benches.

Again, I was kicking myself for not having brought my camera with me. Especially when I realized that two rows directly in front of me, I had an excellent view of a large, older gentleman with white hair. On his head and his back. And shoulders. And arms. It was all clearly visible because his bright blue tank top was quite small.

Our instructor stood, introduced himself, and hit the first slide on his Power Point presentation on his MacBook.

"This is an Intervention."

To Be Continued....