I fully realise that this little bloplet will not do any sort of justice to what all I want to blog about, but right now both you and I will have to settle for it, since my computer time here has become VERY precious and erratic, as well as it being busy as a monkey on fire around here.
I found out something interesting this morning. Riley, one half of the Ron & Riley show on Q93 texted Ron about 5:30 am to let him know that she had been stopped for speeding in *insert name of speed-trap town here* and was refusing to sign the ticket. She hasn't been heard from since, or at least I haven't heard anything.
Being me, I naturally started trying to find out what happens when you refuse to sign a ticket, and found out something very interesting from the State Trooper husband of The Right-Hand Woman.
I knew that a ticket was not an admission of guilt. Every police officer with whom I have had traffic dealings with has told me that, as does the ticket itself right above where you sign, for those of you very few who have never been ticketed. So why, I wondered, do you sign? My police officer contact informed me that your signature on that ticket is the same as a bail bond--you're actually under arrest when the officer stops you, and your signature on the ticket is you saying that by the due date you will either pay the ticket or appear in court. No money changes hands, but if you fail to respond past the due date then you're in effect breaking your bail bond and are subject to arrest on the original charge AND breaking a bond.
So. If you don't sign the ticket, the officer has the legal right to suspend your license, impound your vehicle and/or bring you to jail, all depending on, I assume, how you've been dealing with the officer(s) in question, because the whole time you've already legally been under arrest. And knowing dear Riley and her mouth and her attitude toward authority I can only assume she's in jail right now, or whatever little locking broom closet that they have for a jail down there. Or in rusty iron manacles in a deep, dank stone room. Or perhaps locked in an Iron Maiden, and I don't mean the band.
Me, for my part in securing her release I'm going to climb a water tower and paint "SAVE RILEY" on it's side in big black letters and maybe call Amnesty International.