I was sitting at the main desk in the traffic ticket courtroom where people who received tickets can either work something out on the charge, ask for a trial or request a reset date to do something else.
A woman of about mid forties comes up with her ticket. She is pale skinned, about 5 foot six inches tall, maybe fifteen pounds overweight, with dark brown brown hair cut in some kind of bob. She is pretty, but her makeup is a little too much for 10:30 a.m. She is wearing white, cuffed shorts that are about half a size too tight and extend almost to her mid thigh. She also is wearing a light pink, button down shirt tucked into the shorts. A black patten leather belt, gold knot earrings, and black, high heeled sandals complete the look.
I smile, take her ticket, and look up her file on the computer. Her charge is speeding, 90 mph in a 65 mph zone. It is NOT her first. I ask her what she would like to do today.
She tilts her head down slightly, rolls her eyes up at me, with her head still down, she tilts it slightly to her right, gives a hint of a smile, pushes her lips out, curls the bottom lip down almost like a pout, and says in an almost baby sounding voice, “If I promise to be a good girl from now on, could you let me go with just a little swat?”
I look at her for a moment, then respond, “You have GOT to be kidding me! Did you try that on the officer who gave you the ticket?”
Her facial contortions cease and her expression changes to a kind of irritation before she asks to see the judge. I send her into the courtroom.
Our judge is a very no nonsense type, and that little girl flirt act did not work on him either. He gave her the standard fine for that speed.
She was not a happy type when she marched out.
A woman of about mid forties comes up with her ticket. She is pale skinned, about 5 foot six inches tall, maybe fifteen pounds overweight, with dark brown brown hair cut in some kind of bob. She is pretty, but her makeup is a little too much for 10:30 a.m. She is wearing white, cuffed shorts that are about half a size too tight and extend almost to her mid thigh. She also is wearing a light pink, button down shirt tucked into the shorts. A black patten leather belt, gold knot earrings, and black, high heeled sandals complete the look.
I smile, take her ticket, and look up her file on the computer. Her charge is speeding, 90 mph in a 65 mph zone. It is NOT her first. I ask her what she would like to do today.
She tilts her head down slightly, rolls her eyes up at me, with her head still down, she tilts it slightly to her right, gives a hint of a smile, pushes her lips out, curls the bottom lip down almost like a pout, and says in an almost baby sounding voice, “If I promise to be a good girl from now on, could you let me go with just a little swat?”
I look at her for a moment, then respond, “You have GOT to be kidding me! Did you try that on the officer who gave you the ticket?”
Her facial contortions cease and her expression changes to a kind of irritation before she asks to see the judge. I send her into the courtroom.
Our judge is a very no nonsense type, and that little girl flirt act did not work on him either. He gave her the standard fine for that speed.
She was not a happy type when she marched out.
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