Got my mojo workin’.

There’s almost nothing I hate more than unyielding bureaucratic authority. Blame it on early childhood trauma, or maybe the fact that I am accustomed to Always Getting My Way (to the point that when I don’t, I am usually Reduced To Tears). It’s an inherited character flaw: my dad is affectionately known as the Billdozer and my brothers and I were schooled in Bending Rules at his knee. (But I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who sheds vexed tears when thwarted.)

In any case, last month I got a ticket for not having my dog on a leash in Griffith Park. I was on a favorite hike with Charming Girlfriend and said Lawless Hound, when said CG spied a Park Ranger up ahead in his Ranger Vehicle. Despite my quick sleight-of-hand, despite my wide-eyed protestations of innocence, said Heartless Ranger issued me a citation and told me to show up in court. I guess sending a check is not enough penance; they feel we scofflaws need a talking-to in person.

The last time I ignored such a summons (same dog, same lack of leash, different park) I got slapped with a fine exceeding one thousand dollars (which the Understanding Judge reduced to a mere $300). So this morning I was first in line at the Hollywood courthouse.

There is something about courthouses that is designed to demoralize people. First the metal detectors with their unsmiling guards, then the long lines of similarly intimidated lawbreakers. Even the courtrooms themselves, which (even if nicely wood-paneled) are set up like classrooms with swinging doors to keep the great unwashed away from the judge and the lawyers.

And hoo boy, do those lawyers have some skanky-ass fashion sense! Today, for instance, I couldn’t help staring at a ruddy, pockmarked attorney with an out-of-control Ronald McDonald ‘do (which failed to hide his bald spot), giant smoky blue Paris Hilton sunglasses, a startlingly loud tie and snakeskin cowboy boots.

I know something about the inside of courthouses because I have successfully used my mojo to get out of two Very Expensive speeding tickets (and avoid the dread Traffic School) in the past six months. Also a few parking tickets. Did I mention I really hate authority?

After a short but instructive wait in the courtroom this morning, I spoke with a pleasant young City Attorney, who gave me the expected talking-to but then – presto – dismissed my ticket and sent me on my way. Viva la mojo!*

Okay, I lied a little. I said the Ranger was too far away to see whether my dog was leashed, and babbled on about how responsible I am after eleven years of dog-ownership. I might have even said that She Is Always On A Leash In The Park. Which is a big lie. She is Very (er, mostly) Well-Behaved and gets to run free whenever possible, especially at the beach. (That sound you hear is me knocking on wood).

(*To give credit where credit is due, on at least two occasions the mojo was directly attributable to Beloved Girlfriend.)