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Whenever a hot rodder goes to court, he does so with trepidation. Judges, police, highway patrol and other authority figures have usually been the bane of hot rodders, and in return we have stretched the line between what is acceptable and what isn’t. I received my summons to appear in court and this time it was for the right reason, to volunteer my time as a juror. This isn’t the first time that has happened, but I can honestly say that of the ten times I’ve had to appear, none of them have been pleasant. I called the night before and listened to the instructions, read the Jury Summons and went to bed early. “If they’re going to take away my freedom of movement, at least I will get there in time and hope they let us out early. I knew where the parking lots were and went to the one marked ‘Jury,’ only to find it full. Not only full, but double parked. “Where were the parking attendants that are supposed to be here to make things go easier,” I said to myself. Well, there was no use complaining. Every time that I’ve had to go to court it has been difficult and I just shrugged my shoulders and drove to the next lot. Strange, I thought, how the area had built up. Where were the empty lots where we used to park? In their place were buildings and a new two year college. Pretty densely packed around here I muttered. The overflow parking lot was aptly named and the cars were double parked and even tripled parked. Once in the parking lot, it became obvious that I needed to get out before I was wedged in by parking hungry young people. Juries are usually full of old people, like myself, but of all the people I had come across, there was only one senior citizen in the bunch. I finally got out of the lot and drove down to the Westminster City public parking lot. I turned in and there were plenty of spaces at $4 per day, a bargain that I was very willing to pay. I checked my glove compartment and the coin jar was gone. I uttered some well chosen words and remembered that when you go into the dealership for repairs, remove any valuables. I reached into my pocket and there was no change, no cash, not even lint. The well-prepared juror wasn’t that well-prepared after all.
I looked for the proverbial ‘helpful’ parking lot attendant and found no one. So rather than break the law in order to obey the law, I left the only parking lot with a space and started to drive up one street after another looking for a place to park. About three-fourths of a mile away I came to a school where it looked like I could park, but four youths who were definitely not in school, eyed me back, like a wolf eyes a lame caribou. I wasn’t going to walk that far anyway and I was steaming. What happened I said to myself? I drove home and headed for the phone, ignoring my wife as she tried to say something cheerful. Hot rodders might have problems, but they get right to work trying to find a solution and I was going to find a solution to what had just happened. I called the number on the summons and got onto a phone tree loaded with greetings from the Pleistocene. I called back and got through the phone tree to someone who put me back on the phone tree. Finally, a nice young lady named Alma answered and listened to my complaint. She went to get Fran, but after 10 minutes it was obvious that Fran was smarter than that and Alma transferred me to Theda. Theda was even more pleasant and even thought my attempts at humor were funny. It was hard to stay mad at people this nice. Theda passed me to Thu, who was a manager. Thu was very sympathetic and pleasant. Thu said that the “court has been aware of the problem and that the County of Orange told the students they can use the lots” and that has created a congested situation. She transferred me to her manager, Adrian, to see if she could solve my problems. Adrian was even more pleasant and supportive, telling me that “the court is aware of the parking challenges at the courthouse and have taken steps to accommodate the jurors.” Strangely, I was a good 8 miles from the accommodating seat in the Jury Room. “We’ve talked to the County of Orange about this problem,” she added, “and we’re working with the City and County to provide free parking in the paid lots, but it’s not printed on the flyer you received.” Adrian made the bad news sound good, but I pressed on.
“You need to read the 2nd letter that follows the jury summons flyer and listen to the pre-recorded message,” she told me. “What 2nd letter,” I asked her. “The letter we send out to inform our jurors of the parking situation, and also to ask the parking attendant on duty when you need help.” I asked her if there was a judge who oversaw the missing parking attendants, the missing letter and the confusion on the scene. She courteously declined to transfer me, but said she would look into it and ask someone to call me back. Since the County of Orange had caused a great deal of the problems, I called the County and Irma answered. Another very nice and sweet person and she transferred me to Ruth who I think was nice too, who referred me to Lindsay. Lindsay had the same pleasant and sympathetic approach and was smart and protective of her boss, John Moorlach. Supervisor Moorlach is the chairman of the board of Supervisors for the County of Orange, the guy you are supposed to make jokes about. Unfortunately, he is a very hardworking and competent politician who warned the County of Orange not to dabble in the speculative junk bond markets. No one listened to him and the County lost 5 or so billions of dollars back when a billion really was big money. Lindsay deflected my anger and gave me some killer quotes, but when I told her it was going into an article she said that everything she said was off the record. I told her I just might persist and she said I’d have to talk to Mario Mainero, the attorney for the office and that they would see that the quotes were squelched. She did say that the county simply hires the guard service and that they have no control over this firm until the contract expires and they want to renew it. She did give me some contact points and if you have to be told that the attorney will have his way with you, at least she did it in a very nice way.
You see, the problem with hot rodders is that they can’t see why you can’t solve a simple or complex problem if you think it out and put a little elbow grease into the problem. Government on the other hand simply can’t resolve a problem without going into committee and then only with 100% consensus by all of the parties. That’s because no one wants to go out on a limb with a solution that might backfire. Lindsay did ask the attorney if he wanted to talk to me, but he refused. Alan Slater was next on the list, but to reach him you had to challenge the phone tree. I was lucky and Marion answered. Again a very nice and pleasant lady listened to my complaint. It was getting hard to stay angry with this group. She transferred me to Karen, another nice person who informed me that the “parking attendants may have been only part-time” and left before I got there. Since I was on time that meant the county is paying for guards who could have been playing hooky. The next referral was to Tina, who was filling in on the switchboard and was super nice and understanding. She put me on hold and went to find a supervisor. The background music was sheer torture, but you have to listen to it for fear of losing the call. She went to find a lady by the name of Evelyn Valle. Evelyn wasn’t in and Tina took a message and would have the supervisor call me back. Since I was referred to California Assemblyman Van Tran, I called and spoke to Jaime, who couldn’t answer any questions but would ask a staffer to assist me. However, the staffer was a couple of hundred miles away and so I would have to call there. Jaime was nice. Everyone was nice. At least I was going through a pleasant and nice kind of hell. Jesus in Tom Harman’s office referred me to Damon Conklin. Tom Harman is the California State Senator from my district and from what I understand is one of the few politicians worth his salt. Conklin was his chief of staff and a good one.
Conklin wasn’t sure why I was calling him and I wasn’t sure why I was referred to him. In the end we both agreed that Harman and Tran vote the money bills through and give it to the counties and cities to spend it however they choose to spend it or toss it away, if they so opt. What a system, one taxes, one spends and the third one hires the people you can’t find when you need them. “I’ve been a recent juror myself,” said Conklin, “and walked to the courthouse.” Somehow that didn’t seem reassuring. “I was in the restaurant business and the customer was our first concern. Sometimes Government has a perceived problem in how it responds to people, “ he added. “I have a great empathy for what you’re going through, but the problem is wholly the responsibility of the local county courts,” he emphasized. Finally I reached Evelyn Valle, whom several people had mentioned was the one to help. She did indeed. You see, the hot rodders motto is “never give up,” or maybe “never stop tinkering with the part that is supposed to work, but doesn’t.” Evelyn was not only nice and sympathetic, but quickly answered my questions. “No, you didn’t get the 2nd letter with the parking pass, because you were a call-in juror, but we’re in the process of changing it and you’ll get your chance to serve. I’ll put your name on another list and you’ll get a letter with a correct jury summons and the parking permit. Just read everything carefully and listen to the recordings.” But if you are hauled into court to be tried, or hauled into court to serve out justice, don’t lose your cool when things go bad, just look for the one person in the system that knows how to solve your problem. In a way, they all tried and the problem was solved. No matter how many times I’ve been a juror or dealt with the government, it is a certainty that there will be another problem with them, but with the help of the Evelyn’s out there, perhaps we’ll survive it.
Gone Racin’ is at [email protected].
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