Martha, Conrad and Me

by Jonathan van Bilsen

Visions of orange jumpsuits and rusty shackles ran through my head, as I confronted the policeman writing my parking ticket. I was innocent. I had parked in a perfectly legal spot and told him so, triumphantly pointing at the post clearly marked ‘Parking.’ He agreed and I was about to ask why he was ticketing me. I froze when he silently gestured toward a fire hydrant, tucked neatly behind someone’s hedge.

Mouth open, I stared at the yellow cylinder, mostly-hidden by bushes. “But it’s on private property, behind a hedge, and impossible to see,” I pleaded, feeling my freedom, and my wallet, drain away. He calmly explained the hydrant trumped the sign. I shook my head, and slunk back to my car.

This was Toronto’s Cabbagetown, where yards are smaller than postage stamps, and residents camouflage hydrants like garden gnomes. I decided justice must be served. A few days later, I left the safety of Port Perry, and headed downtown to appeal.

At the counter, the clerk said nothing, stamped my ticket, barked “Next!” and waved me away. Months later, an official letter arrived: I was to appear before a magistrate.

Panic set in. What if I lost? Could you go to prison for arguing about shrubbery? Should I hire a lawyer or just binge-watch ‘Criminal Minds’ for courtroom tips? The night before, I slept badly, plagued by dreams of ‘Prison Break’ and ‘Midnight Express’.

Morning traffic crawled. Thirty minutes late, I parked, sprinted into a building, and discovered it was the wrong one. Two blocks and one metal detector later, I slipped into courtroom C-1, clutching my photographic evidence like a life raft.

The room was nearly empty: a judge, a prosecutor, two elderly defendants, and a lone officer at the back, surely assigned to tackle me if things went badly. The prosecutor checked my name and smiled. I recognized this immediately as the ‘good cop’ portion of a classic routine.

Then the judge spoke. “The officer failed to appear, so we have no evidence. Case dismissed.”

She paused, then added, “Stay away from those fire hydrants.”

Gavel fell! I was done!

Acquitted, yet oddly cheated of my heroic courtroom showdown, I left humming “The House of the Rising Sun,” grateful not to be joining Conrad Black and Martha Stewart over a hidden hydrant. That certainly was not part of the plan.

Jonathan van Bilsen is an award winning photographer, author, columnist and television host. Follow his travel adventures at photosNtravel.com.