Around the World - Column by Jennifer Merin

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Around The World: Cruising California

Jennifer Merin

LOS ANGELES-- It was an average Southern California Sunday morning. The hour was 9 am, to be precise. The weather was gloriously sunny and mild, the sky was a clear and beautiful blue.

I was up early, and already on the road. I was driving on the highway known as the 10, heading to Santa Monica to meet a friend for breakfast. The 10 is typically bumper to bumper on weekdays, but much less trafficked on weekends, especially on Sundays at around 9 am.

I wasn’t solo on the road, but there weren’t many other cars sharing the blacktop with me. I was breezing along in the right hand lane, doing 70 mph in a 65 mph zone. But, I wasn’t even keeping up with the other cars, which were speeding past me in the middle and left hand lanes, going 80, maybe 90 mph.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, blue and red lights flashed in my rear view mirror. A motorcycle cop was on my tail. I pulled my car over to the shoulder, and stopped. A CHiPs officer pulled up behind my car, dismounted and approached me, hand on his holstered gun.

“Are you aware, Ma’am, you were exceeding the posted speed limit?,” he asked.

“Well, Sir, I believe I was going slightly above the speed limit, but I’m quite sure that I was going much, much slower than everyone else,” I responded respectfully. “Why’d you stop me and not the cars that were speeding past me?”

“Well, Ma’am, I guess today’s just your lucky day, ” he retorted, flashing what he undoubtedly considered to be his best Eric Estrada smile, and writing up my ticket for speeding.

And, so it was that, thanks to Mr. CHiPs, I got to embark on a California life-style adventure called Traffic School.

Traffic school? It’s a unique travel experience that offered me the opportunity to avoid having nasty moving violation points posted on my driving record.

It also provides the State of California with the opportunity to fill its coffers with easily earned income. Actually, it seems like a bit of officially sanctioned bribery. In California, it’s a given that drivers speed whenever they’re not stuck in traffic. If they’re tagged--and haven’t received another moving traffic violation within the past eighteen months, they can go to traffic school and keep their records clean--in exchange for paying their fine for speeding, the court’s traffic school handling fee and the cost of traffic school itself--the sum can be several hundred dollars, but that’s cheaper than paying higher insurance premiums.

Since I hadn’t had a violation within the past eighteen months, when I paid my $165 fine, I was allowed to take that 400-minute traffic school course--and I went right along with the program.

I reported to the court to respond to my summons, paid the hefty court processing fee and was handed a booklet called “Traffic Violator School Classroom Location List for the County of Los Angeles,” four-pages of tiny print indicating some 500 Traffic Schools throughout the greater Los Angeles area.

The traffic schools’ names-- “Funny For Less Money,” “Pizza For You,” “Lettuce Amuse U,” “Laid Back,” “Sure Pass,” “Lucky Brake,” “Less Stress for Miles of Smiles,” “California Movie & Film,” among others-- hinted that California Traffic School would be, well, a different sort of legal gambit.

I chose “Improv’s Budget School” in Santa Monica-- it was a bit cheaper and much more convenient than others. Class was held on a Sunday, from 10 am to 6 pm, with 45 minutes for lunch and two fifteen minute breaks. When driving on the 10 to the 10 am class, I was careful not to speed.

The instructor, a lanky Renee Russo look-alike, grumbled about early Sunday starts, then she took ‘round-the-room self-introductions-- we gave our first names, professions and violations.

Collectively, we were guilty of illegal left turns, running red lights, speeding and what’s known as ‘the California roll‘-- that’s failing to halt completely at Stop signs.

Violation confessions were peppered with tricky tips-- which judges are strictest, where cops hide and cameras shoot cars running red lights or speeding, how to gain police/judges sympathy, when to protest tickets or just pay up.

My classmates included filmmakers, writers, realtors, a Los Angeles County schools personnel director, an optometrist, a rock musician/carpenter, cable guy, hair stylist, make up artist, psychology student, non-speaking (stand in) actress with credits in major features, three computer geeks, am auto mechanic, lawyer, biochemist, pharmacist, backstage security officer, Police Academy cadet, psychic healer and mysterious Serbian who declined to reveal his profession.

Santa Monica, it turns out, was a good choice for traffic school. This trendy community undoubtedly has more interesting violators than those in, say, Pomona or Compton.

“Great group,” opines our instructor. “Remember, we’re here to help each other learn, grow, network, make love connections, whatever. But, no alcohol, and don’t try to bribe me. I have to be strict-- undercover DMV agents are all around. So, confess. Which of you is from the DMV?”

No hands rise, so she does a fifteen minute stand up routine about forming a relationship with a stalker. We laugh, heckle a bit.

During the first break, everyone schmoozes between cellular calls and sips of Starbucks. The hairstylist invites me to collaborate on a book about her life-- family infidelities, mysterious deaths, lost fortunes. We exchange phone numbers.

After first break, we take a traffic regulations quiz. Discussion of correct answers is punctuated with soberingly scary statistics about traffic-related injuries and deaths,

After lunch, we compare pet peeves: drivers changing lanes without signaling, using obscene gestures, straddling two parking spaces, passing on the right and driving at a snail‘s pace in the midst of faster-moving traffic. Ironically, that last pet peeve would actually describe my driving on the day I was ticketed.

After second break, we confess our road rage, identify road signs and complete our instructor evaluation forms.

After 400 minutes, we graduate with certificates for the Court.

We bid each other farewell, agreeing we’ve had a lovely day.

Traffic School, as it turns out, is more than a certificate, more than avoiding license points and saving on insurance. For a total of $210 (my fine plus fees), I got a very entertaining stand up performance, met new friends and made connections to anything I might possibly need-- an apartment, eyeglasses, healing, computer repairs, employment in any chosen field of work, legal advice, make-overs, show biz buzz and fodder for an entire anthology of travel tales.

Of course, getting in to traffic school requires you to break the law--and getting caught doing it. If you qualify, you can go to traffic school online, but I recommend going in person for the fullest effect. Santa Monica-- or maybe Beverly Hills or Malibu--are probably best for fun classes and good classmates. You might like it so much, you‘ll want to return. But wait for eighteen months, or they won‘t let you back in.

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COPYRIGHT 2009 JENNIFER MERIN

Copyright 2009 Jennifer Merin