Time for a speeding ticket
I wrote a number of articles on the subject ‘time’, published elsewhere. Here is another angle.
Sometimes some things take some time, time’s not yet cloned, time is of the essence, a concept, Einstein’s been there, done it. Time ran out, all collecting in a puddle down the hill. Time’s up, to rise as vapour shaping clouds, quick, snap a picture, timelessness timely caught. Time waits for no man, women are so lucky, oh ‘…no men’, oops, time for a pickle. Desperate times, hopeless times, times for peace, for love, for fixing holes in roofs, double time, overtime, over time and under, who will have the time?
‘What’s this …a copper with a gun?!?’
‘Don’t aim at me, time-freeze, now; get this mobile to a halt. Time can’t, needs space.’
“Sir, what is the speed limit here?” (My chest rises in pride, a knight, a cop needs my advice. From where he’s standing the sign shows no inscription.)
“Same speed as my angel flies, but we can change it, if you like.”
“Officer, I can explain, time ran away, I was just chasing it, speed ticket ‘it’ should get. You snapped the radar trigger, you saw it happening. It overtook me, dragged the car behind it, adherence to its vortex, a physical phenomenon. Let me explain…”
“I have no time for this,” says he.
“Neither have I, good bye.”
“Get back over here, Sir, we’re not yet done, it takes some time.”
“Sir, is there any reason for you speeding?”
“I thought I made myself clear. No, officer, being absent minded comes to mind.”
“Sir, this shows you doing 83 in a 60.”
“83 of what that might be?”
“83km per hour, Sir.”
“Would I not need an hour to travel 83km? This car is incapable to do 83km in such short a time, as it did take you to laser snap it, nor would those few yards contain a distance of 83km. Perhaps 83 microbe km, if they have such measure.”
“Sir, I will issue you with a speeding violation.”
(Knighthood is not free; each ‘Sir’ will have a price. I had a suspicion this was not just idle conversation)
“Please, let me pay you for the artwork, framed or without, how much?”
“$150, no frame, and 3 points.”
“At least, it is so pretty, worthy of much more.”
Signs in my neighbourhood proclaim, ‘When you are speeding, you’re an idiot.’ I did, therefore I am …a cretin, moron, half-wit, retard, imbecile, simpleton, of subnormal intelligence, with mental impairment and so much more. All these promises and still no membership, the mail takes time, I guess.
Here is the trick, Time. Another time, the same place, same spot, the sign will show 60km/h. Time, one should never take for granted, as it will change to 80km/h. There is a pattern (timed of course). I figured that much out, it will never be 63, nor 79, not even 62.49, based on my observation that not any time once such it had ever been. Ever, never say it, whilst there still is time. Nature drives plants to grow, few yards, that’s all, reveal the sign in unobstructed view. If one is to stand at a certain angle, and I’m yet to position my car in such a way, but have no time for splitting hair.
I got it all wrong. I can rely on my memory to get things mixed up. No wonder my membership had not arrived. The signs do not say that at all, the real signs are, ‘if you drink, then drive, you’re a bloody idiot’ and the TAC (Transport Accident Commission) came up with it and several variations as well. Are they going to pay for the grog? I am unwilling to risk a single brain or liver cell in becoming a drinker, just so I can try to become a bloody idiot. It seems to me there are not many wits in the TAC (wits with the noun of wit that is). ‘Bloody Idiot’, suggests blood, death. Death is not becoming to the happy drinker (is it to anyone in time?). I guess if time after time one is dealing with the untimely demise of life, one becomes hardened, fed up, seen from the side of the boys in blue, girls too, the staff in white coats wearing gloves, death, the reward for doing time?
Not really a subject to mention without feeling an up well of anger, of massive pain, of question that will never find an answer, no matter how long the survivors seek.
I broke the law, admit to that, this time doing 23 over the limit, another time it would have been 3, either way, the law broke. It costs $150 to fix it. One would think it makes more sense, if laws were such that would not break as easily. Durability, a trait unknown to law, that is the law, yeah, look at them, all broken, and one of them I did. If I were in the law manufacturing business, and knew that each of them will break, and knew that each broken law needs to be fully refunded (I would assume that’s in the contract), I would become a professional insomniac in 2 seconds flat. There is another way, let’s address it later, if there is time.
The odd thing is, that I knew the gun toting boys were there, when I passed them driving in the other direction, minutes earlier. I thought to myself, must remember to wave on my return.
The place where the sign is placed is such, one approaches from a 100km/h highway. The exit lane is like the approach to landing, clearly marked 80, then 60, I can hear my turbines winding down. I head into a roundabout with due care, exit the roundabout, align the car from two lanes to one, bushes, growths, the sign is right amongst them, like a plant specimen, odd, without growth.
Even after being issued with the ticket, I snapped myself repeating the same thing over again. It is time to dissect, why is this happening? Home is beyond, 5km further. The heart wants to go home, like a child running in joy towards its mother, so too I, want to run towards home.
Pedestrians are never an issue in that area; none are ‘pedesting’ there. It feels like cheating when one breaks the law and none is there to witness. Wit aside, I must find an answer to this. $150 is comparable to time; it takes time to reap, more than I spent in purchasing other boys in blue artwork.
Next time I approach, I give each action my full awareness. Exit lane starts as single, fine, opens up to two lanes. Either is OK to take. The inner has less distance (trig), the inner can trap, the inner offers the shortest line between two points. The inner is closest to the planted centre of the roundabout. Around about there, that weed is newly grown, welcome to the world. The core of the roundabout devours the poison from my car tonight. The inner requires two additional computations, as the outer is crossed twice, care, care, carefully. Observations, right, left, left, out.
When taking the outer lane, it takes a wee bit longer, less calculations; it sometimes feels like putting my life at risk, if some other not heeds the Stop sign. The thought of relying on the other to stop, to avoid minor collision is always more pronounced in the outer lane. The inner lane could also trigger accidents, cars could rub, side by side, I always look, estimate, judge, calculate, that, I know I do. I always indicate, each lane change, so many blue shirts must have forgotten how to do that. The exit tangent offers one choice, from two lanes into one. Coming from the inner, be aware not to cut off the outer, while from the outer, check, who wants to be ahead.
I know, being in front of one also means being behind another, no glory in either position. So I’m considerate, you want to play the leader, go ahead, no …not sure, let’s talk about this. Anyway, having passed all the mental ‘to do’s’, the single lane is the point that frees the brain of all that. And here, this is the moment, the right foot gained weight, this is it, why? What need I do at this point to loose weight in my gas foot?
Which sign would make me aware that here is my trap, which I keep falling in repeatedly? Ponder, home calls. Which sign? ‘She will still be there’ would work for me, ‘She will still be there, take care’ garnished with elaboration. ‘I am, come slowly’, all would do. I guess the cause is coming from the instinct, to run towards, to cut time short, rejoicing calls to come, the though of home pumps adrenalin. It is like the instinct of danger primes the body to escape, though in reverse. Time driving away from home always seems slower than driving towards it, yet both are the same distance.
Honesty could be another solution helping me not fall into the trap. Like the taxation system, introduced some years ago, we trust you doing the right thing, if we catch you, Fine. My tax returns are clean. I am not a speed demon, that’s not in me. I was once, admit to that. The new freeway completed, underneath me, the once fastest bike in the world, set out to pasture and then saw what once was. Glorious empty 3 wide lanes ahead with gently sweeping curve. The bike remembered, the bike spoke, begged, pleaded, ‘Just once, please, just this once, let me run, come on, just you and I, no one will know, let me relive the moments of my glory, just this once…, I’m in your hands, make my life complete.’
Young I was, I listened, mercy spilled, throttle turned, bark bearing hiss. This, breathe, live your moment, roar spitting flames, my shirt shred in its wake. The music rushing passed the helmet, the stallion rising to the call, wail in your ecstasy, as silvery shadow blurs. Hard on the edge of inner curve, curve curves, sweeps into curve opposed, cross all the lanes in blending tangent, mirror mirrors thousands of pictures, all at once. Why bother, none could catch. Gosh, what a ride, the fire in your loins, the engine purrs in squeals, its high pitched howl, each horse ‘least once to lead, six pistons, all alive, on fire, in flames exhaling breath that splits the air in waving rise as wake. Each drop of sweat ripped to a line, takes time reshaping to a ball, to burst, to bust, explosions trail 5 miles behind, the followers must think it’s raining dew. The wanting more, bow rising, no, oh yes, succumb, the feeling…
No, reason, hear me, you must reason, know we can not rise, wings none we bear, elation this, I hear you plead, calm silver, clouds will wait. Let go, two miles to shudder, let go, scream now, climb, axe, because beyond the rise, there is the town.
Through the shut helmet one could smell the radar trap ahead, the nose knows, time to ease, calm now, my silver treasure, easy now, get me down to something that I can afford. Bike riding brother in blue knew my joy when he rewarded me award, the ticket prize at a bargain price, so glad the laser took its time to meet us… Honesty still knows that I owe much more than he chanced in capture of our rapture, ruptured by him being there. Bliss he sensed, in grinning wrote citation, in thought would have loved to wear my ripped shirt that I wore and lived the living time.
Years mellow one’s perception. As I was saying, honesty may work, honestly. A large sign, a table, un-legged, showing the available choices, like, this much over the speed limit is available now for $50, that much over $75 etc. Discount the low end, add extra premium to the high end (Why ask for more? The rich may have a need). ‘80km per hour on special, today free’ until stock runs out. The supermarkets made an excellent job; one is conditioned to chase the fraction of a dime, getting something for free always works, for many. The blooming renascence of financial hardship, aids in driving home the awareness that driving home can be a painful endeavour. Money never had a voice that I could hear when I was younger.
Another sign my brain fully registers are preparatory signs. Usually in black writing, the sign prepares the reader that further up the speed will reduce to what it suggests. So I slow down prior, trying to catch them out, are they telling the truth? Wow, they did, how did they know? State south of Land of Queen has many such as feature. Clear sign, that boys and girls in blue, in Wales that’s south, that’s new, are fed well, not need alms of guests that clog un-clocked its roads, north in their land.
An ‘honesty self catch speeding system’ (that’s a mouth full for any poet) would require some investment, for safety reasons. Infrastructure modifications, to allow one to stop the vehicle, note down the amount, the self catch details of one’s claim, justification for the award one wishes to be honoured with. One needs time to note the address for mailing to, of self-imposed fine, the name of one to receive the toil in form of cheque? Check for correctness, all this takes time. Unmodified, the infrastructure would grind all traffic to a hold, failing all to realise opportunities on offer, in turn trigger the system’s demise before it had a chance to flourish.
Of course, just for some added twist, in case blue dressed one is a wise guy, tries to extract what thinks there is, contained therein above, and aims to earn points by mere volunteered self confession BEFORE such system is in place, know this: Each word a truth as truth turns lie, as lie lies truthfully, says I from here, my sanctuary, that by default grants privy. The facts that knotted in a knit, then spliced into the crossing yarn, first all had been unravelled, cut and recombined by twisting fibres spun into a yarn. Cohesive thread, how would I know? One better asks a weaver.
One should go with the times, else be forgot, forbid the thought. Time is the theme, let’s stick to it. It’s time for the manufacturing sector to help us out, to each save time. An automatic ticket dispenser machine comes to mind. How many roads do we have in the country? Some are very long. How many ‘honesty self catch speeding system ticket dispensing machines’ would one need, able to satisfactorily service each municipality, and let’s not be selfish, the country roads ache for the same? There, hordes of people measuring each inch of road, years of work in preparation. Unemployment… tomorrow, no one can remember what that meant.
Business opportunities are everywhere. Just think of the number of extra psychologists, psychiatrist, counsellors, healers, a whole industry of scientists needed to aid the ones which not heed such suggest such system brings upon to bear, a growing guild to cope with guilt.
One could speed, yes.
One could not fine own break of law, yes.
One could think one gets away for free, wrong.
One can think whatever one may wish, but that’s not how it works. The guilt creeps in and starts to nag. You did it, 62km/h in a 60, you low down weasel, measly 2 don’t warrant fine, wrong, wrong, wrong. You can not carry over the 2, from before, when you did 58, I will not buy this. I am your conscience, you owe and you know, and no matter how long you live, this on this day of date at moment such, you did, shall never be forgotten. You owe, how can you sleep at night, 2km over, each dream you have I shall remind. I am conscience; I have memory, how ever far, there is no escape. You owe and this you know, the debt demands its pay, and pay you will if not in money then in ill.
Where do I pay? You know that all too well.
What is my cut? .0001 cent per km above the given limit will do. What for? For the solution that can potentially lift each nation out of recession, a means that frees resources of every law enforcement group in any country. Law enforcement, what a strange word? Let’s not get sidetracked. Imagine the tremendous lift in the self worth of every citizen such implementation would bring. What a different approach, each speeder would be aware, no need of blue shirts chasing, asking silly questions. I am woman, I am man, I am adult enough to admit I have been wrong. I know I need to make amends. Solutions are so simple, big brother, go away, do something useful. If I catch myself speeding again, I know how fine the fine will be.
Marry ideas to potential economic windfall and success is much more likely. Consider this, a mobile radar trap (a police car/bike who invests 30 minutes here or there with a handheld laser), is likely to return $XYZ per given timeslot, you know the figures better than I. A self trap system operates 24 hours on every and any road in the land, potential of return is in excess of the mean a cop manned trap could return (is there such a thing as ‘womanned’?), due to the fact that a busy cop is not going to stop, the ones they let pass through. Some may not pay their due, just like the ones that nick bananas or a Newspaper sold via honesty system. Pay they will, one way or another. Just on speeding alone, an estimate over the thumb, $ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOP, per annum. Human resources free for reassignment elsewhere, plus hardware and logistics, why is the treasurer smiling?
Think big, where have you been? The honesty self fine self judge and condemn system is what comes to mind. Which laws, all laws, which crimes, all crimes, how would it work? Ticket dispensers for all there is, self serve jails where needed. How many laws would such dispenser able to cater for? That depends. There is a law that covers stealing. Is there a law that covers stealing half a ‘stole’? Instead of stealing a full apple, one steals a few bites and then, when it happens to taste sour, returns it for to ripen. Could not the stealer having bit, sue the grower for the lack of sweetness and offset the fine with gain expected due?
Time grew a legal minefield, brave those who venture through. No dispenser is able to house the number of buttons that would be needed. Cut the case, economise, approach the new dispenser, did you do something wrong (yes / no / maybe / undecided), was it bad (yes / no / maybe / undecided), was it very bad (out of a scale of 10), please measure the depth of your pocket now (use tape provided), press for a verdict. There you go, that’s all there is to it. The treasury’s coffers burst in a day; crime fights itself, ethics reborn, each one admires every other, proudly shall walk who done his/her time, paid for their crime.
New industries spring up, a best seller this week is the ‘mobile self check answerer.’ One may be in the mood to rob a bank, ask the device and hear the answer: ‘Your account is $7.89; you must have a minimum of $3921.39 to rob the cheapest bank I found, willing to be robbed for shown amount. Travel costs will in addition increase the total to $23873.46 (return). In other words, Sir/Madam/it: NO. You can not afford to rob any bank on earth at this point in your life. Instead of paying in money, I suggest you opt to pay in time. Please try again. Have a nice day.’
The serious crime addict will of course always be able to play ‘virtual crime’ games, free. Very popular are the digi rob complete with joystick car chase.
Some have more than $7.89 as their sole possession. Tycoon asks the ‘mobile self check answerer’ what crime could I afford: “Your balance is shown truncated to the last 12 digits. You can do anything you want and your resources cover it. You can not afford crime that costs much time, or you will owe after you go. Please try again. Have a nice day.”
© Heinz Ross, Gold Coast Australia
20 Jan 2009
How can the issue of a speeding ticket potentially bring such promise that none was able to suggest… even remotely.. read on