To Serve And Collect

Reading Time: 3 minutes

Published: March 30, 2009

Dan Needles is the author of “Wingfield Farm” stage plays. His column is a monthly feature in Country Guide

A bunch of us were sitting in the Kingbird Café this morning mulling over the latest round of bank failures, corporate bailouts and whether the recent uptick in the price of soybeans would hold, when Bob Pargeter kicked open the door, glared at the assembled patrons and sat down heavily in the booth beside us. The Combine King of the Valley rarely loses his temper, but then, Mount Pinatubo doesn’t erupt very often either. You don’t want to be beside either of them when it happens.

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“Who peed in your cornflakes, Bob?” asked Vern amiably.

“The justice system,” said Bob.

Bob had a brush with the law this month. He was coming up the Demeter Town Line with a soybean cheque from the elevator in his pocket, when Corporal Alfie Hoggett clocked him doing 80 kilometres in a 50-kilometre zone. Cpl. Hoggett said it was a very serious offence because they were in a school zone where fines are doubled and Bert was looking at $300 plus the loss of four points. The officer told Bert that he was “lucky” because another five kilometres would have forced him to impound the truck for “street racing.”

We all had some difficulty picturing Bob in a street race. He drives as serenely as a lake freighter captain, whether he is behind the wheel of a combine, a tractor, a truck or a riding lawnmower. That lonely stretch of road going into Demeter had an 80-kilometre limit for at least half a century, but last fall the county school board got the roads past every public school posted to 50 for nearly a kilometre on either side. There is no visual cue that a person should be slowing down, apart from that single black and white sign by the cedar hedge, which happens to be where the officer hides his cruiser.

We all suggested he call one of those ex-cops who work for the Ticket Busters people you see advertised on the back of the phone book. Bob phoned the number and found himself talking to a genial guy by the name of Barney who lives just south of Demeter.

“What’s your driving record like, Bob?” asked Barney.

“I got one speeding ticket just after I got out of school. 1983 I think.”

“They don’t keep records back that far. This shouldn’t be a problem.”

“The cop said I have to go to court,” said Bob. “Do you want me to put on a suit and tie?”

“No, you don’t have to go to court,” chuckled Barney. “They’ll only laugh at you. Just mail me that ticket. I’ll wait for a day when I get the right crown attorney and I’ll get it reduced from a major to a minor. That’s only two points. Won’t affect your insurance and it falls off your record in a couple of years. I’ll get the fine chopped in half, too.”

“Really?” said Bob. “How do you do that? I was speeding according to the law.”

“The courts are swamped and they try to cut through the clutter any way they can,” said Barney. “They’re too busy to put up much of a fight. I’ll give you a call in a few weeks.”

Bob was a little mystified by this whole process but he mailed off the ticket and sure enough, Barney called him a couple of days ago and said that if Bob sent the province a cheque for $150 it was a done deal. So we wondered why Bob was in such a bad temper today about the justice system.

“I went down to Demeter to pay Barney his $150 fee for fixing the ticket,” Bob explained. “I couldn’t actually get into his driveway because he has a big Ford 350 with a long trailer and a huge bass boat hooked up to it. On the stern of the boat he has painted the words ‘To Serve and Collect.’ On the other side is a 40-foot motor home that must be worth a hundred grand. I asked him how many tickets he would fix on his average day in court and he said, ‘I dunno. About 30 I guess.’ That’s $4,500 for an afternoon’s work. ‘Jeez,’ I says. ‘You’re doing better than you were as a police officer.’ And he just laughed.”

Bob shook his head. “It doesn’t seem right. It’s like travelling through an airport in the Third World. And now I’m part of it.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“I’m going bass fishing in July with Barney and Alfie Hoggett.”

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