car thing - part 1

Preface

This is a true story.
Every time I updated friends about this story, which I named "the car thing", they laughed and some of them asked me to write a book about it.
I am not going to write a book about it. I like writing. I know, and probably you know too, I have always fancied being a novel writer. Writing my own personal true story is not considered creative writing for me. I am simply writing down what's in my memory in a very colloquial, non-standard English way.
For now, writing entries in my blog is satisfying.

Before you keep on reading, please say this name Kim in your head and put it in your heart for me if you ever care about me.

Kim, this is for you.


Bungbung moving to New Jersey

I. Registration

Dennis the technician gave me the car key, and said "It's like brand new. Take it home."
I could not help but smile. My smile got wider when I saw the two black kitties on the key chain. My smile got even wider when I sat in the car. My smile did not fade off until I parked.

I had not smiled at Bungbung since 2 am, Nov 8, 2007. Today was Jan 18, 2008.

On Nov 7, 2007, I was watching Sopranos before leaving to Empire Dance.
In that particular episode, Tony Sopranos was pooled over by a cop. The cop asked him for his driver's license and registration card.
I was like "Oh shit, where is my registration card, PennDOT!"

PennDOT stand for Pennsylvania Department of Transportation. My registration was expired on Oct 31, and my new one had not arrived yet.
The Sopranos episode totally reminded me of this situation. I cursed PennDOT for another second and left to tango.
Driving into Manhattan after 8pm is not a trouble at all. Parking on the 25th, 26th, or 27th street after 8pm is not difficult at all. Parking is free. Toll is reduced. All is good for me to drive in. I drove in.

I wanted to dance like a usual Thursday night. It was not usual. Someone I expected did not show up. Someone I did not expect did show up. Well... in this case, it is actually fair to say it's usual, right? Things usually do not work out as I expect. Anyway, this usual or unusual tango night is another story and will not be told here.

I drove back as usual. As usual, I went on I-280 and took Exit 11 and made a left turn at the first traffic light right after the Exit. I had done this since July.
Passing through two intersections, a police car was shining his light into my rear mirror. I hesitated and did not believe I did anything wrong. But being a good driver, I pulled over.
A cop came to me with his spotlight-like flashlight, and asked me "Ma'am, do you know what you did wrong?"
I shook my head and said no.
"You turned left at the traffic light." He corrected me.
I looked puzzled and totally did not understand what was wrong about turning left at a green light. So he continued to tell me my wrongful demeanor "You cannot turn there. A sign 'NO TURN' is under the light, and you should've kept going straight."
I looked even more puzzled and did not understand why I would want to go straight which is not the direction to my destination. But I chose not to argue with him and said "Sorry, I thought 'NO TURN' meant 'no turn at the red light'."
"License and registration card, please." He demanded.

I gave him my license, saying shit in my head when I opened the drawer and got my expired registration card.
As I opened my drawer, another cop appeared at the passenger side with one hand spotlighting my drawer and the other hand holding her gun at her waist.
Behind my car, there were two police cars: one that pulled me over, and the other one carried an older cop. The older cop seemed to be other cops' supervisor. What did I do? Why did it need 5 cops pulling a small cute VW beetle over for making a wrong turn? (And I did not think the turn was wrong.)
Soon the supervisor came to talk to me, "Your registration is expired. We have to tow your car."
"The car is registered. Can you run the system? I am still waiting for the card. It should arrive in my mailbox anytime."
"Ma'am, you are very cooperative, and I believe you are not guilty. But your license has been run through the system. We cannot just let you go. You can bring your registration card to get your car back in the morning."
I was speechless and tried to think. A line ran through my head "why can't you now tell the system that I am not guilty and let me go?" but the line did not successfully came out my mouth. What ever that system was, I hated it.

The supervisor took my car key away and asked me to wait in the car while they issued me two tickets (one for turning left and one for no registration) and called a towing truck.
My window was open. The cold air was blowing in. I sat in the car without any emotion.
It was getting pretty cold after 10 minutes. So I stuck out my head and waved at them and yelled "Sir!"
A young cop came. I told him that I was cold and that I needed the key to turn the car on so I could closed the window. He let me.
"How am I going to go home?"
"Where do you live?"
"South Orange." I got pulled over in Orange.
"Can you call someone to pick you up?"
"No, I live alone."
"Can you walk back?"
"It's dark and cold now. And it's not a short walking distance. Would you please at least give me a ride home?"
"I cannot make this decision, Ma'am. You have to ask my supervisor."
I don't like people who call me Ma'am. I sat in my car, looking miserable and thinking how I was going to walk back in such a dark environment with the temperature of 35F.

It felt like a long time later when the towing truck came.
I stepped down my car. Bungbung was towed away. Two cops came over and stood beside me. I asked them where my car was going. They said once my tickets were issued I could ask their supervisor. Right, everything was decided by the supervisor. And the young cops' job was to make sure I did not escape. How was I going to escape with my car!
So my car was gone, and I was still waiting for my tickets. One cop said "woooo, it's cold."
"I thought your uniform was quite warm." I said.
"No, it's not. Do you want to wait in our car? It is not comfortable but it's warmer than standing outside."
I sat on the back seat. Not "in" the seat because it was hard and plastic.
I felt like a criminal. The glass between me and the cops might be bullet-proof. I started shaking. I was still cold in the police car. The hard plastic seat was cold.

Finally, the supervisor came and gave me the tickets.
"Go to the station first thing tomorrow. Don't wait if you want to have your car back before the weekend. The station does not open during the weekend."
"OK. Thank you. Can you give me a ride home?"
"Where is your place?"
"South Orange."
"Where is South Orange?" I could not believe he lied to my face! You don't know where South Orange is? It's just five blocks away!
"Uh, do you know South Orange Avenue? My place is close to the South Orange Train Station."
"You," he talked to the young cops in the car with me, "took her to the border."

After the supervisor left, I asked what he meant by "border". Oh, he meant the border between South Orange and Orange. WTF
On the way toward South Orange Avenue, one cop asked my address and I knew they would drive me home not the border.
They turned on hip-hop music and started chatting and laughing while I was sitting very uncomfortably on the back seat.
They dropped me home and made sure that I entered the building. They were nice to me. One came out of the car and opened the door for me. Of course, I could not open the door because I was on the criminal seat. The door had to be opened with a cop's key. They were nice because they told me I'd be alright and everything would be cleared with no guilt charges. They kept reminding me that I should get my car back first thing in the morning.

First thing I did as entering the apartment was to turn on the computer.
I needed to know how I was going to show a valid registration card and rescue Bungbung in the morning. The PennDOT website allows online registration, which is followed by a temporary registration sheet that has to be printed out.
I don't have a printer.
I didn't know how to get to Orange at sunrise.
I texted Kim and begged her to call me as soon as she saw the message.

At 7:30am, Kim picked me up and drove me to our office. I printed out the temporary registration. She drove me to the Orange Police Station. I paid the towing fee. I got Bungbung back.

It was of course not over. My court day was Dec 5. No matter if I was pleading guilty or not, I had to go to court.
Well, I was not surprised. I had had experience with New Jersey court.

The temporary registration only worked for 10 days.
The actual one never came.
After the temporary registration expired, I drove anxiously everyday. My heart beat went up every time I passed by a cop. I only drove to work. I stopped driving to tango. Well, but I kept on tangoing. Train was kinda reliable

I was brave to drive to Department of Motor Vehicle (DMV).
Basically, I should've had my car registered in New Jersey in a month after moving here. So I filled the registration forms.
I failed.
The reason was I did not show the title of the car. The title was with my loaner, VW Bank. So DMV gave me a piece of paper, which I had to fax or mail to VW and asked VW to mail the title to DMV. Once DMV received the title, DMV would send a postcard to me, telling me I could go in and register.

Before the court day, I did not hear anything from DMV. My Pennsylvania registration card never arrived.


(... to be continued)