Stung

I just got attacked by a Virginia Alcoholic Beverage Control Act sting operation. I now have a summons to appear in court on 2/27/06 for selling alcohol to a minor. I won't go into any more detail about the actual incident.

Conviction of this crime is a Class 1 misdemeanor in Virginia. That's the most serious misdemeanor. Conviction of a Class 1 misdemeanor is punishable by either up to 12 months in jail, up to a $2500 fine, or both. It's all up to the General District Court judge to decide. No jury for this type of crime, and I'm pretty sure no right of appeal. It's just one guy, on a bench, hearing case after case, who (like a register jockey on a busy Friday night) just wants to get through the docket in front of him, just looking for the easy ones he doesn't have to think about, who decides whether I pay a fine, whether I do jail time, or both. What a nightmare.

Oh shit, what about the city prosecutor? I hadn't thought about that. Will there be someone who doesn't know me from Adam actually trying to put me away. Oh shit, maybe so. Oh, God.

And like the towing of my car, this happens at night when things are closed. And worse, it's Friday. Now, I have to wait through the weekend before I can call lawyers and find out anything more about the situation. People from the wine shop say that I shouldn't worry, but I don't know if anyone there's ever been stung before. They say don't worry, and all I can think is how easy it will be for this one guy to give me jail time. It'll mean nothing to him, I'm sure. One more in the clink. One more file off his desk. Me, I'm terrified of going to jail. No hyperbole. I'm really terrified of jail time. I think about it all the time. Man, I feel numb.

Even if I don't get jail time, I can only comfortably swallow the smallest fine. And what's it going to mean if I have a conviction for a Class 1 misdemeanor? You see, I wish I be calling lawyers now (even though they're going to cost money). Nothing to do but sit and stew, and that's the worst.

No. The worst is jail time.

And you wanna' know a kicker? Today we just had the memorial service for Robert's father. Robert's father died last Saturday night and so we've all been quietly rocked by that all week. He (Bob) and Robert's mother (Joyce) live in town, and Bob was by the shop a bunch and seemed like one of the nicest guys. I was just getting to know him and was looking forward to knowing him more. He seemed like a man of stories, and many people can tell you how much I love stories. I'd only heard the first of what I thought were going to be many.

Anyway, the one thing on my mind all week has been the best thing I can do to help the family out in this time of need is to make sure the shop runs as well as possible while the boss is occupied with this tragedy. And now this happens, the worst possible timing. My co-workers had to call this poor man at his father's wake to tell him about this, which probably means fines for the business as well. God, what a nightmare. Okay, now I don't feel numb. Now I feel like crap. Twelve months ago I was in a rehearsal with a nationally known director in a world-renowned theater bringing to life an original play. Now twelve months later, I'm here and this is happening ...

I cursed at the ABC guys. I called them "sons of bitches" and yelled at them. The main dude said I could calm down or he'd haul me off to the magistrate in handcuffs. I calmed down because, after all, I'm just a big, fat coward. What I wished I'd said, calmly, was, "You know, you should let people curse. Something like this happens; you're gonna do what you're gonna do; you should at least have the decency to let people have their say."