It’s said the mythic gates of hell are guarded by a dog with 50 heads. Our hometown, too, has 50 cops at either end of town, or so it seems. Those year-round, festive, flashing lights are mighty pretty, too: red, white, and blue. This sleepy hamlet makes a lot of money off the fools who don’t slow down, and even locals, bitten once or twice, have learned to use their cruise-control in town, to overcome the carelessness that plagues familiar, everyday routine.
Not long ago, I headed out to Tucson after dark. Once clear of town I sped up, in time to trip the radar of a Santa Cruz County sheriff’s deputy who’d parked along the road with his lights off. He chased me down and told me I’d been clocked at 69. The speed limit was 55. It didn’t look good for me. I didn’t resist. In fact, I said, “But officer, my cruz control was set to 70.”
Policemen, just like other living things, appreciate those who are pleasant and frank. They must get sick of folks who bitch and fume. In any case, this guy was cool and cut me lots of slack. “I’m not gonna bust you for speeding,” he said, “but we’re in the midst of a Zero Tolerance Campaign, so I’ve got to write you up for something. I’ll cite you for Wasting A Finite Resource. That way it’ll cost you about 60 bucks, instead of $200, and there’ll be no points added to your driving record.” Well, that seemed like a bargain to me, so I thanked him and went on my way, with my summons in hand.
A Zero Tolerance Campaign: What’s that? Since when is wasting gasoline a crime? My tree-hugger heart kind of liked the idea, but some cynical part of my brain wasn’t sure: on top of the old-fashioned speeding offense, it seemed like added jeopardy to me, a lot like another odd law on the books, of which I hadn’t heard until a year or two before.
Arizona’s reliably medieval statutes declare that a “person who operates a motor-vehicle with any detectable trace of cannabis or its metabolites in his or her bloodstream is guilty of a felony.” What happened to the level playing-field or common sense? It takes three or four weeks for the metabolic by-products of marijuana to dissipate. No one but a liar, fool, or politician could claim that someone who smoked a joint three weeks ago is still impaired, if he was ever even stoned at all. That’s just a sloppy, biased law. Legislatures, unless monitored by concerned citizens, often craft petty rules to serve the state’s convenience, without too much regard for justice or common sense. Badly written laws add to higher court-costs, magnify the public’s mistrust of authority, and make life harder for the cops.
It wasn’t till later, approaching I-10, that something else occurred to me. At the time I was driving my wife’s Prius which averages 48 miles per gallon. The pick-up truck in front of me most likely got a third of that, or less. The SUV behind me might get half of that, at best. So which of us was wasting gasoline? I decided that, instead of just paying the fine, I would raise that cute question in court — if only to challenge the gist of the law, and to see how Keith Barth would react. I looked forward to my day in court, some three weeks hence.
The three weeks passed. I drove up to Sonoita to the court at 10 a.m. and presented my summons and photo ID to the clerk. She looked at my papers and said, as she handed them back, “Sorry, sir, that was yesterday’s date. You’re too late.” I felt a bit ridiculous, of course. What happened to my moment in the sun? “Well, now what do I do?” I asked the clerk, imagining the cops would soon be knocking down my door, warrant in hand. She said, “Just pay the fine and you’ll be fine.” I wrote a check and slowly drove back home. My cruz-control was set to 56.