July 23, 2008

Long F*cking Weekend

It started on Saturday. I went home, with intentions of staying at my dads. My mom was admitted to St. Vincent’s and I wouldn’t see her while I was home. Harry and Brian came with me. Harry’s goal was to grab his Birth Certy and Brian was staying in his unoccupied house. I dropped them off.

I had called my dad, he was supposedly in some town about 30-some minutes away. He told me that he looked forward to seeing me and that he’d call me when he was back in town.

I went to Kork-N-Keg and bought a bottle of Oliver’s Soft Red Wine. I then went to Village Pantry to get some stuff for my dad’s. Then I saw my dad walk in; he was supposedly still in another town. Knowing that my dad had probably lied to me, I avoided him in the small convenience store and waited for him to leave. Disappointed, I bought a 24 oz Red Stripe and cigarettes and left.

Instead of going to my dads, I ended up at Brian’s with Harry and we watched The Messengers (shame on us). We drank and smoked, we did our thing. Harry eventually walked home. I decided after some deliberation to drive to my dads, after nearly finishing the Oliver’s. I was more heavily buzzed than drunk, still manageable.Then the thinkinable happened, only because it’s Lebanon. I noticed a police car closely tailing me for a good portion of St-Rd 39/Lebanon Street. Officer Ryan Batts decided to run my plates, and then turned on his red-and-blues.

I stopped.

“I pulled you over tonight for driving while suspended. License and Registration please.”

I thought, my license isn’t suspended.
I thought, don’t panic.

I spoke as little as possible, to hide the alcohol on my breath. I avoided his eyes to hide my dried, red eyes. I handed him what he asked for, and watched him walk back to his car.

Officer Batts returned from his car after what seemed like an eternity.

“Where were you heading tonight, Mr. Irwin?”
I said, “My dads.”
“Ok. Your car will be towed. The sheriff just arrived, he said he can take you there.”
I said, “Wait, why is my license suspended”
“There was a report from the BMV claiming that were in operating without insurance. It seems you had a collision a few months ago, and had no insurance”
I said, “That’s not right. You have my insurance card.”
“Take that up with the City Court. Your court date is August 18th.”

I walked to the sheriff’s car, wearing a backpack and carrying a plastic sack from my car. He patted me down.

“Are you carrying any weapons, firearms, knives, or anything?”
I said, “No.”
“Drugs?”
I lied, “No.”

“Ok, hop in, i’ll take you home.”

Instead, I had him drive me back to Brian’s. Harry came back over for a little bit. We smoked, again. Harry left. I slept at Brian’s. My dad never called.

The rest of the weekend consisted of sorting out information, listening to various establishments blame each other.

On Sundays, everything’s dead. No progress was made. I did manage to get into a big argument with my step-family about religion, gay marriage, and of course my mom. Josi had the nerve of telling me that she missed out on 6 years of her life because of my mom. Apparently she was the only one taking care of her and missed her “teenage years.” Knowing the truth, I looked at her and told her that if she really wanted to go down this road with me, I would be willing, but she needs to think twice. She stopped talking altogether. The baptists are disappointed with me. They told me they felt insulted, I had denied God and his Bible.

I paid $125 to get my car back on Monday. I called my auto-insurance company and told them the story. They essentially told me that the BMV fucks up this kind of shit all the time.

Patti Crow, former judge and friend’s mom, stopped by my house to talk and help me out. She told me just how disgruntled the state employees at the “Bureaucracy of Motor Vehicles” actually were. I think she told me this to make the point that, when I did go to the BMV Reinstatement Center in Indianapolis, the workers there won’t fix their mistakes for no cost. She was right.

I found my hold playstation and got my mom’s small TV from her room, and put them in my room. I got high, put in Tomb Raider 2, and ran around Lara Croft’s mansion for awhile.

On Tuesday, I called the BMV (they are closed Mondays, thus the reason for my extra day in Lebanon) and asked if I would have to actually drive to Indianapolis to clear this up. I told them that State Farm had sent them a fax of my proof of insurance.

The lysping girl’s voice said, “Sorry, takes 7-10 business days to process a fax.”
“Can’t you just check the fax machine for a form from State Farm?”
The fucking cunt’s voice said “I will not check it, if you want it done sooner, you’ll have to come to the Center.”
I sighed, “Ok, since it wasn’t my fault. Can I get my license for no cost.”
The twat’s disgusting voice said, “You need to take that up with State Farm. It’s their fault for not reporting your insurance to us in the first place.”
I said, “That’s not true. It was reported on time, and correctly. Several people have told me my problem lies with the BMV.”
I hung up.

My grandpa took me there Tuesday I showed them my proof of insurance for the fender-bender I had in April. She reinstated my license on the spot. It cost me $10 to get a new license printed. And $8 to get a copy of my driving record.

I had gained a new hatred for the state. It’s expensive and time-consuming to prove one’s innocence. Some state employee somewhere fucked up, only for me to suffer the consequences.

At this point, I was exhausted. More importantly, broke.

I was able to make my return safetly to West Lafayette later that afternoon.

My court date is August 18th.

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