It's official.  I have now descended into a legally ascertained life of sin and vice.

Yes, I am now a ringleader of the crime underworld.

My list of devious deeds, you may ask?

A traffic ticket.  Rolling through a stop-sign.  And a warning for not having proof of insurance (never doubt the potency of a plaintive look; copious amounts of mascara help).  The police were camped out on the main drag of a neighbourhood shortcut to Riverdale (well known to criminals, of course).  I got in the line to merge onto Warrior Drive.  Then I see the three police motorcycles camped in a private drive (which I question the legality of, though I'm hardly one to talk).  They look at me, wave me over and point to a spot where I can park.  I'm so oblivious that I rolled that I actually turn to Caroline and say, since they have a small clipboard, "Maybe it's a survey?"

(I roll down window.)  "Hello there!"
"It was very rude of you to run that stop-sign."
(Internal monologue: What????)  "......Oh?"  (Erudite, I was not.  Here I am desperately trying to remember what sort of phrases the Traffic Ticket Evasion article on www.soyouwanna.com recommends, and thanking every deity known to man that I took the SWORD out of my back seat before leaving home this morning.  That, wrapped in a blanket, defies every law of concealed weaponry.)
"May I see your license and insurance papers?"
"Yeah, sure, certainly.  Caroline, get those out of the glove compartment, will you?"  (After a desperate search through the envelope labelled "Important Papers," I have yet to locate said insurance, and hand it to the cop so he can do the looking.  Decide not to mention the fact that, when hiding behind a bush, he looks just like an old black woman.  No, seriously, he does.)  (Insert searing stares of Han Solo "Laugh-It-Up-Fuzzball" proportions at fellow classmates who point and laugh and wave as they zip merrily by.  Try to hide amusement as cop returns from inscribing my plate number.)  "So, out of curiousity, what's the fine going to be?"
"About $100."
(Internal monologue: Sh*t.  Now I can't use real silk for my faire costume.)  "Excuse me?"
"Yep.  And you don't have your insurance in here, either.  That'll be another ticket."
(Aforementioned plaintive expression.  The key, ladies, is to widen your eyes innocently and gasp a little.)  "....But, since this is your first time in three years, I'll make it a warning."
"Wow, awesome, thanks!"
"So how old are you?"
(Internal monologue: Dammit.)  "Eighteen."  (Continuation of said monologue, with a slightly sarcastic bent: It's not like that's on the license, or anything.)
(Cop seems to sense internal monologue, and returns vital documents.)  "Your court date is April 6, at 8:15."
"Ooookayyyyyy.  And will they tell me to whom I send this fine?"
"It's on the ticket.  Move along, now."
(I move along.  Woman tries to let me onto Warrior before I can fully stop.  Send amazed stare, check rearview mirror, and accelerate to freedom.)

And thus the saga ends.  But not without 1st period French III/IV class deciding to attend court wearing "Free Kelly" shirts.  And me poring over my MTSU Criminal Justice textbook all day long and writing monologues to deliver regarding obscure legal Latin terms and researching issues of legality regarding the police location on private property (can anyone help me with that?) and such ilk.  Oh, this one incident touched off a whole day of revelry and hilarity.  (And getting taken out to dinner.  Woohoo!  But not because of the ticket.  But I'll let you think that, because it's funnier, mwahaha.)