A truck flipped and I folded

7:13 am, 580 freeway, headed to downtown Oakland. I have to be at the courthouse by 7:30. A red car clips a black pick-up truck and the truck goes flying up the embankment, end over end. Something on the hill changes its momentum, and it rolls, on its sides now, back down to the road. It lands upright, red car nowhere in sight.

This happens maybe five cars in front of me, no one stops, they hardly slow down. I am mortified. I pull over and run to the truck, phone in hand, sure I will find a body in pieces, a head torn off, something I really dont want to see. But when I get to the truck, a man is blinking at me. He asks what happened, says he can't open his door. Around to the passenger side, he unlocks it and I open it, babbling that I can't believe he is all right as I give him the spectator's version of what just went down. A stethoscope peeks out from behind the seat. Police are on their way. I leave him my name and number, just in case, and walk back to my car, shaking my head, hand still on my mouth, positive that I have witnessed a miracle.

Park and walk up to the courthouse and stop dead in my tracks. The fucking line is wrapped up and around the corner and halfway down the block. At 7:30 in the morning. In 40 degrees. More than an hour later, we are inside, in another wormlike line, and the line outside has grown rather than diminished. Amazingly I get in the morning session. The first case is man who had obviously been caught doing more than 100 miles an hour, since they "agreed" on 99. He gets a fine of $381. Funny, that's what these assholes are charging me. I jot it down on my paperwork so I can bring it up to the judge.

Once the trials are over, I am in the first group of arraignees. But when I get to the podium, the bile evaporates. The rant I had planned all night drains from my throat. Guilty or Not Guilty, he demands. I start to explain - Guilty or Not Guilty he demands. A plea of Not Guilty requires a return to this ridiculous charade. I am silent, I stammer. Well, I dont want to do this again, I say - laughter from the courtroom - so I guess Guilty. But this fine seems grossly excessive. It's the standard fine, he says. I do not pull the ace out of its hole. I am silent, I stammer. He bangs his gavel and dismisses me.

I am so angry at myself I cry. So much for freedom fighter. Why didnt I speak up? Even if I had an answer, it wouldnt matter now. I folded under pressure. And now I will pay $30 each month to the City of Oakland for eternity it seems. And I am angry at the fleecing, but mostly at myself. My ego cannot tolerate cowardice. So I am beaten, internally.