So, there I was on the side of the road on I-95 right outside of Woodbine, Georgia. The state trooper had just said the words every road traveling citizen fears: “Please step out of the vehicle.” He had one hand on his handcuffs ready to pull them at a moment’s notice. But he allows me to, in his words, “explain yourself right here instead of down at the station.”
Here’s my explanation, Officer, in full, without the cars whipping by at 70 miles an hour creating a wall of noise.
I. THE WHOLESALER
In the summer of 2018, Jess and I, with a little help, bought a Chevy Trailblazer from a wholesale lot in Mt. Dora. We were thrilled. We had been a one car family for nearly 5 years, and we were in a position where it was getting difficult planning around her job, my job, and dropping Zack at school. And our Impala was about to shit the bed.
We signed on the dotted line and drove off. The wholesale manager assured us that the registration would be filed and a permanent plate would be delivered in the mail before the temp ran out. It did not. On the final date of the temporary plate, we called the wholesaler to let them know that we hadn’t received a plate. He offered some excuse, but said to just come back down and get a new temp plate while the registration was being filed, and that it would definitely be in the mail soon. It was not. By now it’s almost November, and we don’t have the permanent Florida plate for the Trailblazer. The wholesaler said:
“Yeah, sorry about that, I’m going to bring the registration up to the Department of Motor Vehicles personally.”
…
So… in two months he hadn’t done that yet. Jess already suspects something fishy. But the Blazer is in good shape. But lo and behold, the plate finally arrives sometime before Thanksgiving. Along with all the paperwork. Goody.
Why would I suspect the registered paperwork differ from the initial handwritten paperwork that I got when we bought the car? Registration numbers and vehicle identifiers don’t change in 2 months.
I thought!
II. THE LAKE COUNTY TAX OFFICE
It was a warm Florida afternoon in December, one of the benefits of living in the south. I pull a letter of interest from the Florida Department of Motor Vehicles from the mailbox. It told me, in short, that the insurance information that was input was incorrect, the insurance agency (Geico) denied it, thus the vehicle was uninsured, and that we were in violation of Florida law. I would have 3 weeks to fix the issue or else my license would be suspended.
Crap.
I found this particularly interesting if only because we sure as hell were paying for two cars on the insurance. The premium nearly doubled automatically, and the information was accepted by Geico and reconfirmed by me thrice over. There was clearly a mistake.
I take the letter down to the tax office to get answers. After long looks at the computer screen, intense mouse clicking, and some perturbed expressions, the clerk was able to decipher that the VIN# on file at the DMV and the VIN# on file at Geico did not match. After he dramatically pushed his glasses up the slope of his nose and conducted more mouse clicks, he found that the VIN# on their file was correct, and the one on Geico’s file was incorrect (off by 1 letter).
The wholesaler gave me one VIN# when we bought the truck, and registered a different one in November. Face, meet palm.
I called Geico that moment, had customer service fix the issue, then at the request of the clerk had them update the proof of insurance cards. They were updated instantly on the Geico app. Again, at the request of the clerk, I emailed them to his station, he printed them out, attached to my file, and said “Ok.”
This next exchange is important:
Me: So, I’m all set, right? Because I’m heading on vacation, and the last thing I need is to be pulled over while I’m out of state with a suspended license.
Clerk: Oh yeah, you’re all set. Have a nice day.
… “Have a nice day” is where it should have ended.
III. SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN PURCHASE AND SUSPENSION
That was not where it ended.
Around a month or two after we bought the Trailblazer, Jess started noticing the speedometer intermittently stopped working. It would either not move from its start point of 0, or it would hover around 10 or 15 when we were clearly going faster than that.
We brought it to the garage we always bring it to to get it a once over making sure it’d get us to New England and back for our vacation. Oil change, tire rotation, all that jazz. They gave it a thumbs up saying they reset the electrical system, and that did the trick. And he was right.
For about 2 weeks.
While we were up north, in the middle of vacation, the speedometer crapped out again. I made an incorrect assumption that maybe the cold had something to do with it; it didn’t stop working the first time until the extreme heat of the Florida summer subsided, and it stopped the second time when it was December in New England.
Regardless, we couldn’t get it fixed while we were on vacation. It was one of those things that would have to take care of when we got home.
IV. THE STORY THUS FAR
In case you didn’t want to read the minutia and commentary (it took a lot of effort to write, but it’s fine… whatever), here’s a summary of the important information to the story.
- We bought a Chevy Trailblazer
- The speedometer didn’t work
- The Florida DMV sent us a letter saying it wasn’t insured
- Actually, it was
- The VIN# didn’t match from policy to DMV record
- “You’re all set. Have a nice day.”
Ok, all caught up? Great.
V. I-95 OUTSIDE OF WOODBINE, GEORGIA
January 2, 2019, we were on the homestretch of our journey home. We had a memorable vacation and holiday season spent back home. And after the hardships that marred our first trip back home in 2017, I think it would be nice to remember the actual vacation and not the ridiculous trip home.
Oh, how I wish this was just a droll recount of our winter vacation.
The Florida line was a stone’s throw away, and from there it would only be another 2 hours to get home. And we were making great time. The reason for that became clearly obvious.
A state trooper roared out of the median and tracked me down with his lights flashing. Dammit. Nabbed.
Let’s review my driving record for a minute, shall we? 1 single car accident (2007), pulled over 13 and a half times (don’t ask about the “half”, that’s a completely different story). Number of those times that were for speeding? Zero. Number of tickets issued? Zero. Remember that. My driving record was/is pristine. I only three things I’m proud of in my life are my son, my extensive knowledge of superherodom, and my clean driving record.
The Trooper saunters up to the window, I hand him my license and registration, and he asks:
“Happen to know how fast you were going?”
Me: “Actually, I’m afraid I don’t. You see, my speedometer actually broke while we were on vacation.”
Trooper: “I clocked you at 85 miles an hour today.”
Me: “Oh, I … had no idea. Like I said, the speedometer broke while we were — Well, actually, it was broken before we left, we got it fixed, then it broke again.”
Trooper: “Alright, you stay right there, and I’ll get this looked at.”
He walks away. This, to me, is as routine as it gets. He was either going to let me skate like all the other times, or he was going to an issue me a ticket I’d have to deal with later. Either way, this shouldn’t take long.
15 minutes later, he comes back to the window, and says just about the last thing I expected:
“How about you step out of the car, and let’s have a little talk.”
Fuck.
So here I go, standing on the side of the highway right in the middle of holiday travel time, cars whipping by creating a tempest accompanying this wall of sound that makes it nigh impossible to talk through.
“So,” he begins with one hand on his belt. (“Hands out of your pockets, please”, he interjects. Hands in pockets is one of the things I do when I’m nervous, so now my nervousness has escalated into full blown anxiety.)
“Usually,” he begins again, “with cases of suspended licenses, I put you in the back of the car and you go explain yourself down at the station. But I’m gonna give you a chance to explain yourself right now.”
I was dumbfounded only but for a moment. Because I almost immediately remember the letter at home declaring that my license would be suspended if the lapse of insurance matter wasn’t handled. But I handled it, dammit! “You’re all set. Have a nice day!” That’s what he said!
I told the trooper the whole story about the letter and how (I thought) I had handled it. He makes me confirm my story that the only reason it should be suspended is because of a lapse of insurance. “That should be cleared up,” I add. He says ok, and heads back to his truck to radio it in. I find the passenger side window and try to calm Jess down. It was a misunderstanding, and as soon as he radioed in he would figure that out, I tell her. This would all be smoothed over soon.
The officer comes back. He’s got this cold look in his eyes. He turns, spits some of the tobacco out of his mouth, then places his hand at his belt as he says:
“Now, I just want to let you know that I gave you a chance to explain yourself. And that the only reason you gave for your license to be suspended was a lapse of insurance.”
Perplexed beyond all reason, I confirm that’s exactly what happened.
Then, the bombshell: “You never mentioned you had any DUI’s and an aggravated assault that you were suspended for.”
I could have passed out in shock right then and there. To say that this was a case of mistaken identity was an understatement. Flatly, I never drink and drive, never have never will. I knew from an early age that if you imbibe, you hang up the keys. I know too many people who have been affected by drunk drivers, and I refused to be the cause of destroying an innocent life, or my own, by making a stupid mistake like that.
And aggravated assault? Are you kidding me?! Guys, I’m 5’7” on a good day. I’m basically a tall hobbit. And my disposition on this earth is that violence sucks and is better left in the movies. Plus, I couldn’t intimidate an ant let alone drop someone so fervently that I’d be slapped with an aggravated assault charge.
I am a law abiding citizen. The absolute worst “crime” I’ve ever committed was downloading Game of Thrones episodes (and I stopped the moment I got the DRMC copyright letter).
So suddenly, I find myself wrongfully accused of something on the side of the highway in Georgia. And one of the things that bolted through my mind was how quickly this could escalate. I didn’t want to wind up on the 6:00 news. Still, I had to defend myself.
I don’t remember what I responded with, but my look of sheer terror must have given me away, because the trooper then says:
“That’s not you?”
“No, sir. That is not me. I have never had a DUI. Or an assault.”
I’ve seen enough episodes of Cops to know that cops often expect lies and denial when they accuse someone of wrongdoing.
“Wait right here.” The trooper now walks up to the Blazer where Jess and Zack are still waiting. He talks to her, makes a gesture toward me, stands there and talks with her for about two minutes. After the situation ends, she tells me that he asked if she was alright, if she was being held against her will, how long she’s known me, and asked if she knew if I had any DUI’s. Because, clearly, I’m this drunken monster who incidentally got caught in Georgia.
He comes back and says, “Wife vouches for you.” Then tries to confirm, “So you think we have the wrong guy?”
“Sir, if you knew me, you’d know the last thing I would do is drink and drive. I’ve lost too many people that way.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. But he says that he’ll get back on the radio and “try to figure out what’s going on here.”
So, he heads back to his truck. Jess is on the phone with my parents one second away from hysterics. My son, who we taught to respect police and have instilled a theory that the police help people, is wondering why daddy is talking to the cop so long. And the entire time I’m standing on the side of the road, I’m convinced that I’m going to be arrested by a colossal fuck up of the nth degree.
20. Fucking. Minutes. Later.
The trooper comes back with a clipboard. This is a better sign than having one hand on his handcuffs.
“Well, they can’t figure it out back there. But you might want to check into that once you get back to Florida.” He issues two citations. One for speeding. One for driving while unlicensed (a knockdown from “driving with a suspended license”). And instead of issuing the fines then and there, he gives me a court date to show up to two whole months from the time of the traffic stop. He also orders that Jess has to drive the rest of the way since I was so called unlicensed.
She makes it the rest of the 2 hour drive home while I’m in the back trying to process the whole thing. Basically, I was nearly arrested because of a perfect storm of incompetence. The wholesaler recorded the wrong VIN#. The DMV got a different VIN#. “You’re all set, have a nice day!” means “It’s actually not all set!”, and the Georgia State trooper dispatcher clearly pulled up the wrong record with felonious charges pinned to me. All this nearly coalesced into me in a Georgia jail cell.
What a fucking trip.
VI. THE LAKE COUNTY TAX OFFICE: THE RETURN
The very next day, even calling in late to work to make sure it was done, I marched right into the tax office wanting them to know I, in fact, did NOT “have a nice day!” Because the license was still subject to suspension, I had to fill out a tedious license form AND pay 7 bucks to process it.
The clerk, a different one than last time, tapped and clicked, and tapped and clicked, and said “hmmm”, then tapped and clicked, and finally said “Oh!” … Then tapped and clicked, and clicked then tapped…
…Then tapped some more.
“Ok, so,” she began, “The proof of insurance cards you provided weren’t valid—well, I mean, they WERE valid—but they weren’t valid in order to remove the lapse of insurance from your file. What they need to do that is a letterhead from the insurance provider proving you had insurance at the time.”
Guess what? There was a button on the Geico app specifically to request that. I’m willing to guess this happens enough to where that would be necessary for easy access. It was emailed to me, and I forwarded to the clerk in 10 minutes.
She then takes a detour, talks to the original clerk I talked to, back in the office part, and came back “wanting to make sure this is what is needed.” She looks at the email, then types in the information… I repeat, she types in the information WITH the email with said information right in front of her. The information is directly in front of her, so why should she mess it up? Why indeed?!
And she cleared the flag from my file. And I say… “So… I’m all set?”
She clicks, then types… and says “Yeah, all set!”
Fine.
But it wasn’t fine!
One month later, on February 3, I got yet ANOTHER letter from the Florida Department of Motor Vehicles. Enclosed was an explanation that my attempt to clear up the lapse of insurance on January was not accepted, and thusly my driver’s license was suspended until the issue was resolved.
So
So. … so … so…
I head BACK to the Lake County Tax Office (after I looked up cat gifs to lower my steadily rising blood pressure) and bring the new notification in request for an explanation. As my license was technically suspended, I had to fill out yet another driver’s license request form and pay yet another seven dollar processing fee. And then I wait until another clerk is free.
It’s a different clerk than the last 2 times, and I explain… the whole… story to her. It wasn’t necessary, I just wanted her to know …exactly… where I was coming from.
I explain that if I have the confirmation letter from Geico confirming that I had insurance the entire time I had the Blazer, which I brought with me to show, then how is it possible that they can also deny they cover the vehicle creating a lapse of insurance. How the hell was that possible? What was going on?!
The clerk takes the confirmation letter. She takes the letter of suspension from the DMV. She looks them over once and says, very chipper like she had just came up with an answer on a crossword puzzle, “Oh!” No clicking, no typing, just “oh!”
She puts the papers down in front of me and points. The policy number that was the Geico letter (i.e. the real policy number) did not match the one that was on the suspension letter. The clerk from the last time put in the policy number incorrectly.
My license was suspended (again) from a clerical error (again).
The clerk opened up the file on the computer, fixed the policy number, and removed the flag on my record. And for the final time, I ask “All set?”
The clerk said “I sure hope so.”
Me too, lady.
VII. EPILOGUE
I requested a transcript of my driver record on the Florida DMV website to see if those DUI’s and aggravated assault charges were actually on my record, or if it was a massive blunder by the Georgia state trooper dispatcher. In the process, I put my driver’s license number in, and it came back “active” and “unimpeded”. I have not received any other notification in the mail, so I think it just might be safe to assume that the insurance issue is, at long last, all set.
My court date in Georgia ended up being remarkably anticlimactic. I freaked out for two months, got a folder full of evidence supporting my claims about why the insurance never lapsed and thus my license should not have been suspended, and prepared a defense statement. I drove 3 hours to Woodbine, Georgia and end up spending exactly 24 minutes in court, approximately 22 of them spent waiting in the galley. The verdict was swift, and all of my dutiful preparation was ultimately unnecessary. He threw out the “driving while unlicensed” charge and cut the speeding bill in half. Total fine: $150.
The saga is over. But if I learned something today, it’s this:
… … … Actually, I got nothing.
A Story About Waffles 