PJC, strange but true

Yesterday I was up at the c.o.d. (crack o dawn) sitting in a creepy little low-ceilinged, wood paneled room with every other redneck smoker who got caught in the speed-trap in Marion, NC. If you blink you will miss it and "it" isn't much. The big, brightly colored wooden sign reads, "Welcome to Marion, a friendly, progressive city."  Sure, it's cute in a 70's kind of way but there's not much going on. I'd wager that making out and ingesting anything one can get his or her hands (or nose as the case may be) on are the top two forms of entertainment.  The "historic" downtown area has a plethora of "loves me, loves me not" type businesses. Half of them are open and have bizarre sounding names that have nothing to do with what's inside. The other half have worse names and are abandoned, the for sale OR rent sign reminiscent of hooker offering $5 blow-jobs for the last two hours on her corner. 
But when it comes to raising money in this pit-stop of a place, I must admit, they've got it down.  It goes something like this:


1. Set speed traps and post meanest, most un-feeling cops behind trees, shacks etc.
2. Relentlessly pull over anyone who you didn't grow up with, especially those who look 
    vulnerable
3. Issue citation, stop at nothing, not even baby's head hanging out of vagina is cause to 
    be sympathetic. She was speeding after all, or at least you think so and it's her word 
    against yours
4. Have all your "lawyer" "friends" send out scary letters describing in great detail the 
    horrors of going to court without counsel. Obviously charge double.
5. For those illiterate/lazy or hung-over enough not to be smart and use "lawyer"
    make court small, hot, late, stinky and very early in the morning in order to charge
    very large amount of money for any and everything


Lather. Rinse. Repeat and suddenly Marion, NC, if you look at it in just the right light, looks a bit more friendly and progressive than you had once imagined. You crack your window and sniff the air...it smells like something familiar, something you remember from your past...Oh! It's MONEY. And as we all know, money is pretty damn sexy no matter how you slice it.


But I, genius/queen o the shortbussers that I am, found a crazy-ass (only in NC!) loop-hole.
A loop-hole so good the "lawyers" highly advise you NOT to use it. "We can't tell you why, but believe us, it's NOT a good choice. After all, WE are the "lawyers" right?"
It's called PJC (Prayer for Judgement Continued) and when I Googled it I was in awe. Surely this couldn't be real. I double checked that I wasn't on the Sesame Street website (one of these things...doesn't belong) but no, there it was, PJC. A plea that may be used by a family or individual who hasn't had a violation in the last 3 years. I read and read and only got more confused. Did it wipe you clean? Did you have to pray in court? Were there still fees involved?
It's finally my turn and by good karma or an act of God, the court is comprised of women. All of them from the court reporter to the judge. I stand at the front of the room, alone, the asthmatic breaths of the rednecks behind me strangely comforting. 
"Whatchu wanna do?" Asks the curvaceous bleach-blonde DA. I am momentarily blinded by her Sparkle City Pink lipstick but recover and say, "What are my options?"
She rambles off pleading guilty and paying the (large) fines, going to traffic school (large fines PLUS the fee of school PLUS having to come back to Marion and hang out for hours with my new compatriots.  She pauses and looks me in the eye...(wait for it wait for it).
The fact that I am not rambling on and negating my choices is only because I haven't had coffee yet.  Because really, who wants to be sitting in court, dying to take a crap? Not me.
She sighs, cocks her head slightly and says, "There is the PJC...." I smile and say, "I think I'll take that."  I realize that no one in their right mind would say yes to a thing they had never heard of or sounded so stupid it couldn't be right.
But all of a sudden she's whispering to the judge and they wave me to the lady who writes something on a green piece of paper.  She hands it to me and I thank her a little to profusely. I turn to the judge and the DA, I smile like Miss Fucking America and do my little lightbulb unscrewing hand motion. I mouth the words, "thank you."
And I'm out.
I still had to pay but it was $120 not $250. 
And yes, I also had to pray. "Dear God/Mary/Jesus/Buddha/All those other Guys," Thank you for my PJC. I don't know exactly what it is and I'm pretty sure it's a complete crock but still, if you wanna pretend, I will too."  Amen.