end of the month transit

“I must have dropped my tick­et get­ting on the train.”

“Give me your ID.”

“You just saw me last night!!”

“Yeah, that was last night.”

*screams in­ter­nal­ly*

 

I lit­er­al­ly took a pic­ture with the tick­et and my change from get­ting cash back at Tar­get to buy the stu­pid fuckin thing be­cause I re­al­ly can’t af­ford a fine for clumsiness.

I’m livid rn.

If you don’t have a train tick­et when you get checked, it’s a hun­dred and fifty three dol­lar fine.

That is al­most fifty six times as much as the tick­et. So I’m sure you un­der­stand the lev­els of livid I am that this is over a train tick­et that just fell from my pocket.

So my choic­es are ba­si­cal­ly that I suck it up and pay it, or I fight it. I think I can prove from the con­tents of my pock­ets that this was an hon­est er­ror. But, it’s at Car­ol Miller, and Sacra­men­tans may know what that means: If I plead not guilty and I make my case, and then lose, my tick­et will be at least dou­bled, maybe even quadru­pled. ‘Court fines.’ Be­cause ‘en­gag­ing in the right to de­fend your­self fines’ would be illegal.

My dad, ever the em­pa­thet­ic (/s), re­al­ly drove home that as much as he would ad­mire me for chal­leng­ing it, he wouldn’t help me pay any of the ex­tra fines I in­cur fight­ing it, if I lose. Con­sid­er­ing I nev­er asked him to pay the orig­i­nal tick­et in the first place, or even the pre­vi­ous tick­et he did pay in full which he’s cur­rent­ly guilt­ing me with (over a cop en­counter I could have DIED in), I re­al­ly ap­pre­ci­ate his commentary.

I have a few months to fig­ure it out. Mean­while, I’m livid.

I just wit­nessed sev­en cops and two pro­ba­tion of­fi­cers ar­rest a MoC for rid­ing one stop and not hav­ing a train pass at Zin­fan­del. Lit­er­al­ly not enough time had passed for them to even check his war­rants. WHY ARE PRO­BA­TION OF­FI­CERS CHECK­ING TRAIN TICK­ETS. Kin­da say­ing this just be­cause who the fuck do I even say some­thing to, but also be care­ful to­day and pay for your tran­sit — it’s the end of the month.
 
 

—mel­ony ppenosyne

Flom­mist Mel­ony Ppenosyne is a writer and weird artist type. In the last year alone, she’s trav­eled to Vir­ginia as a com­pet­ing poet, co-writ­ten a play on men­tal ill­ness that is present­ly be­ing pro­duced, and craft­ed a pub­lished es­say check­ing the priv­i­lege and scope of art gal­leries. Copy­right © 2016 Mel­ony Ppenosyne.

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