Some people buy regional knick-knacks (aka: crap that gathers dust on the shelf) when they move to a new city. I collect traffic tickets. Burlington is no different.
However, this experience was less stressful than when a Bozeman police officer pulled me over and questioned me for a record 45 minutes. Mayor McCheese didn't grill me and Andy Griffith wasn't whistling dixie when I got my first ticket in Burlington. Nope, it was just me, my windshield, and an orange envelope.
Ten dollars. My crime?
Apparently, I didn't pump enough change into the parking meter. My biceps did work OT at the gym the night before and, perhaps, weren't up to the challenge as my game of quarters ended years ago (so lack of change was not a problem, although lack of change is a good reason, sometimes, to make some change :^P). I couldn't come up with even a lame excuse.
Traffic cop beat me to the doughnut shop and scored the glaze when he saw Little Stevie sitting on the asphalt. I should've known better.
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