My first experience with going to court occurred the week I turned 21 and North Carolina sent me a lovely, personalized birthday request; my presence for jury duty. Once I arrived at the Monroe Courthouse, I learned this birthday present was extra special because I had really been summoned to the grand jury.

As I was clearly not going to be traveling to Raleigh, or anywhere else for that matter, I patiently explained to everyone involved that I was a student and jury duty would not fit into my schedule; crisis adverted.

The next time I had to appear in court was in Farmersville, NY. Despite the courthouse really being a barn, I was told it was court, and the judge sure did hand down real fines, so I guess the classification is correct. At any rate, as my husband and I waited we saw one hefty fine after another issued by a seemingly irritated judge. We had a certain amount of cash set aside for this unplanned expenditure and nearly every fine issued by the judge exceeded this amount, so to say we were a bit concerned is an understatement.

I spoke with the DA prior to being called before the judge to plead my case, and afterwards my husband asked me how it went. When I shrugged my shoulders and said she snickered a few times, he groaned and hung his head in defeat.

Finally, the entire “courtroom” emptied of all other offenders, leaving just my husband, court personnel and me. I stood before the judge absolutely terrified because I knew I was facing all sorts of unpleasantness, when he asked me how I plead.

Never having been to real court before I wasn’t entirely sure, so I did what any well-bred North Carolina woman would do.

I turned to my husband and asked him in the most ridiculous Southern accent and Kelly Pickler impersonation possible how I wanted to plead. Apparently, I was supposed to have remembered he told me “Not guilty” as he hung his head and groaned again. Before he could answer a distinct chuckle sounded from the bench followed by raucous laughter all around the “courtroom.”

Once I made my plea, the judge asked me a few more questions, and yes, I kept up my Kelly Pickler act. Throughout it all, the judge, who seemingly hated everyone, had a small smile on his face and it was clear he was trying very hard not to laugh. By this point my husband had slightly relaxed until finally the big moment came.

Making his determination, the judge decided I had merely had a parking violation and then issued the lowest fine of the night!

Afterwards, he told us it was because his wife [the stenographer], the DA, and himself all thought I was “absolutely adorable” combined with the glowing report written about me by the New York State Trooper, God bless him always, who responded to my accident scene. While the accident was not my fault, the fact I had not switched my insurance and license tags over to New York from North Carolina may have been. I reckon some states find this to be a more serious offence than others.

My husband and I barely looked at each other as we forked over the cash to pay the fine. I can only imagine the stupid look of disbelief that must have been on our faces the entire way back to our car. I think we were both too scared of jinxing ourselves by talking before we were safely in our newly legal car and driving away.

What I have learned from my brief courtroom appearances is that one should always arrive on time, appropriately dressed, speak with the DA, and always, always fall back on good ole’ Southern charm when all else fails. As for the NY State Trooper? Both an officer and a gentleman, he is a driving force behind restoring my faith in law enforcement.