Gone, but not forgotten...

I finally got tired of life in Lousyana, so I packed up and moved to Wyoming. That's right: Wyoming.

Why Wyoming? Why not?

(1) It's got mountains: proper mountains, with snow on top. I've never lived anywhere with mountains.
(2) Laramie is a nice, clean little town, where there aren't murders every week-end and people are friendly, and they don't scream obscenities and throw things at me and try to run me over, just because I ride a bicycle.
(3) It isn't damp. Even the cold feels nicer, because it's dry. And, it's cool: we've had a few snow flurries this week. Yeah, it can be really cold, but I'll take cold over heat any day.
(4) I have friends here who want me here and are doing the best they can to see that I get settled and am comfortable and enjoy life.
(5) Laramie has some really, really cute boys! There is a university here and it's dripping with cute boys, and a lot of them are really nice. And cute. Did I mention cute?
(6) It is about as far away from Lousyana as I could afford to get. I would have left the country if I could have. I have been criticised for voicing negative opinions about that beknighted state, so, just to set the record clear: I hate Louisiana. I particularly hate Baton Rouge. The state is packed with ignorant, intolerant, rude, crude, bigoted, small-minded, inbred, low-life, trashy, homophobic, money-grubbing, ostentatious arseholes. And those are the nice ones! Now, I do realise that there are some very good people in Lousyana; it has been my privilege to have met and known and worked with some truly wonderful people, but 7.4% of the population (and this is a figure tempered by kindness) is not enough to keep me there. FAREWELL! GOOD RIDDANCE! HASTA LA VISTA, BABY!

Now, you might think that, considering my feelings for the state, that it would be glad to be rid of me, and want never to have anything to do with me, ever again, but that is not the case:

The long arm of Lousyana has reached out 1500 miles to continue to screw with my life. Today, I rode three miles, out of town, to obtain my Wyoming driving license, only to discover, to my surprise, that my Lousyana license had been suspended, and that I could not obtain a Wyoming driving license until it is cleared up. I have no bloody idea WHY my license was suspended; I never received notice of any pending action of any nature from DPS, or I would have taken care of the matter BEFORE I moved 1500 miles away, so that I would not have to fix the problem long-distance, which I now have to do.

I was given an 800 number to call, which I did, as soon as I got home, only to discover that it had been disconnected. So, I went online and spent a good 20 minutes navigating their convoluted and confusing website and finally found a new number, which I called, only to find that the office shut at 4:00 (3:00 Mountain Time). It was 3:05.

I am going to spend more time this evening on the wretched DPS website, in the hope that, tucked away in some dusty electronic corridor of that ancient and outmoded menu system, some kind of form or something that I can fill out to discover what the hell I did or did not do to incur the wrath of the Lousyana Department of Public Stupidity. I have a feeling that I will waste a lot more time and be unsuccessful, and that I will have to call the new number on Monday and muddle through an equally ancient and convoluted telephone menu. Hopefully, I will eventually discover what Lousyana wants from me (probably money) and for what, so that I can clear up this beaucratic clusterfuck and, with any luck, completely eliminate any hold Lousyana has left on me, so that I can live in peace and harmony with all living things with all kinds of warm and fuzzy feelings, to the betterment of myself and for the Greater Glory of All Mankind.

Somehow, I doubt that this will be an easy task.Lousyana's dubious excuse for a government has taken incompetence to the point of high art: this is incompetence so baroque, so labyrinthine, so mind-bogglingly counterproductive that it almost has to be a result of intense and meticulous planning, unless (possibly) the result of some unforseen and hithertofore unknown rift in the fabric of time and space which causes any endeavour which has any worth at all to be sucked into another universe and replaced with an anti-endeavour which is just, for lack of other words to describe it, really stupid. I'm working on the proof of this theory. I may be some time.

This is why I have little hope of clearing this mess up with alacrity:

Quite a few years ago, I had the pleasure of encountering two of Baton Rouge's Finest (not to be confused with the nearly identical Baton Rouge's Finest now under investigation by Federal authorities over allegations of racism and misuse of power following Hurricane Katrina). My inspection sticker had expired and I was on my way to have my vehicle inspected when these two valiant defenders of the public pulled me over. Of course, I knew why they had pulled me over, and I told the officer who took my license that I was on the way to get the car inspected and pointed out the garage where I was headed, three sodding blocks away.

That didn't matter, he told me, and wrote me a citation.

"You're a real prick," I said. He just handed me he ticket.

Of course, I did not pay the fine. I waited for the court date on the citation to come around so that I could contest it.

I was at work, about a week before the court date, when a co-worker, who had been in traffic court over another violation, got my attention.

"Dude," he said. "I was at court today, and they put a bench warrant out on you."

"That's ridiculous," I said, naively. "I'm not due in court until Monday."

"Well, you better call them," he said. "Before they put your ass in jail."

So, the next morning, I called the Clerk of Court. The woman on the phone assured me that, yes, there was a bench warrant out for my arrest for failure to appear in court the day before. When I read her the appearance date off of the ticket, there was the clicking of a keyboard in the background.

"The appearance date was moved up," she said.

"I didn't receive any notice," I said. "How can you expect me to appear in court on a different day from the one on the citation when you didn't notify me?"

"It is the responsibility of the accused to know when they are supposed to be in court," she said. I hung up.

The next Monday, I went down to the courthouse and asked to see the assistant DA assigned to traffic court. He saw me right away. He was very cordial and very apologetic when I explained the situation and showed him both the citation and the receipt for the inspection sticker, which had the time imprinted on it twenty minutes after the time recorded on the ticket. Again, he was apologetic and assured me that the charge would be dropped and the bench warrant recinded. He blamed the unfortunate episode on new software in the Clerk's office, with which the staff apparently had not completely familiarised themselves. He took my copy of the ticket and stapled it to a stack of multicoloured papers, we shook hands, and I was on my way. You would think this story would be over, but it doesn't end here:

Two years later, I was stopped at one of those fucked up insurance and/or drink driving checkpoints. I gave my license, registration and proof of insurance to the Valiant Server and Protector (it said so on his unit) of the Public. He held some kind of conference with two other Heroes in Uniform. I waited forty minutes. I was then asked to step out of my vehicle, was subjected to a body search and handcuffed. I was informed that there was an outstanding bench warrant for me, and that I was under arrest. I was asked if I had any illegal substances with me and was asked for permission to search my vehicle. I refused to give it. They searched my vehicle anyway.

I told them the story about the bench warrant. They told me it didn't matter. My car was towed away and I was transported to the city jail. It was a week-end, so the jail was full of drunks, dope heads and other various offenders. The cells were all full, so I spent six hours standing, handcuffed to cell bars before the Idiot in Charge got around to me. Fortunately, I had my checkbook with me, and I wrote a check for the $300 bond. I was released. It was four AM on Sunday morning. I had to walk three miles home.

It cost me $185.75 to get my car out of impound. I went to court on the offense that had presumably been dropped two years before. I had no proof of anything, because the assistant DA had taken the citation from me and hadn't given me any kind of receipt or waiver or whatever the fuck he should have given me. I spent 4 hours in court and paid an attorney $150 to represent me. Someone finally produced the paperwork that supported my case, and all charges were dropped. When I asked the judge about the $185.75 for towage, the $300 bond and the $150 I had to pay the attorney, I was advised that the only thing I would receive back was my $300 bond.

It took three months for the court to mail me a refund check for the bond. The check was for $264.50, minus $35.50 in court costs.

And you ask me why I hate Lousyana?