How to Have a Good Holiday Season When You’re the Niskayuna Town Court

So, a few weeks ago, when the proverbial $^&# was hitting my personal fan on what seemed a daily basis, I arrived home to discover a curious envelope addressed in my name, from none other than the illustrious Town Court of Niskayuna.

Now, my curiosity was certainly peaked, since I have never lived in that beautiful town, have no general reason to be within the confines of said town, and know only vaguely the direction in which it glamourously resides on local area maps.

It turns out that the ancient record keepers in the town of Niskayuna are cleaning out their cupboards and antique steamer trunks, because that curious envelope contained a delightful request that I appear in court, or suffer the dire consequences of having my driving license torn up and burned in a public square.

“WHAT!?” cried I, standing ready to accuse my darling son of illegal and nefarious doings in the town I barely know, likely with my vehicle, and with the hopes that he could intercept the envelope before it reached my hands.  Of course, it makes no sense that my license would be affected by something my kid did, but, as an upstanding and law abiding parent, generally, when something is amiss (like, 3 pairs of scissors, all of the drinking glasses, your sanity), a child is the first person in line for interrogation.

As I further investigated this document in my hand, I noted that I was being accused of a deadly crime which happened…..(cue firing squad drumroll, please)….in 2005.  Yes.  2005.

Now, I’m no mathematician, but 2005 is quite a ways back.  Back far enough to understand quickly that I could not accuse my son of getting me arrested at a time when he was still fairly innocent and possibly not yet able to reach the pedals in my car.


This means that I alone, am to blame for this horrific crime that happened in the peace-loving and naturally beautiful town of Niskayuna.  What happened EIGHT YEARS AGO in Niskayuna?  Why was I in or even near Niskayuna?  Where exactly is Niskayuna, anyway?  ”This is bull%#$^,” I sputter.

After much anger, confusion, and investigation of my crime (of which, incidentally, the paperwork does not present the details, and when one calls the telephone number of the wise employees of Niskayuna Town Court, one receives a recording, with no option to leave a message) (so, thank you, Lori, for helping), I discover that I could very well likely be guilty.

It seems that I have no alternative but to appear in those hallowed halls of justice, with my head hung low, prepared to face judgment for my uninspected vehicle of eight years ago when I flagrantly trespassed the boundaries of that heavenly town.

Does it matter that I barely remember anything from eight years ago?  No.  Does it matter that I have no way to prove my innocence because my bank records are held electronically for five years and I, in my stupidity, do not keep ancient paperwork in lockboxes for eternity?  No.

They can lose track of something for EIGHT bloody years, and I must accept that somehow, there is no possibility, whatsoever, that they may have lost the receipt that I actually paid the #%A&**(@ thing?

Now, I’m guessing that the folks in the Niskayuna Town Court are having a lean year. Perhaps the Town Court King cannot justify another tax on his downtrodden citizens. Perhaps the heating bill is overdue, and the clerk’s son, Tiny Tim, is in need of some new crutches or an iPhone.  The holidays are approaching, after all.

I don’t know the exact reasons, but I have two small suggestions on how they can fatten their coffers, without digging up some old crap from eight years ago.

  1. Stop paying for the upkeep of that palace of a Town Hall with the vaulted ceiling, gigantic flowering plants and antique displays in the lobby.  You might also want to fire whoever is in charge of keeping the Community Activities Board up to date, because a zumba class for Seniors which is outdated by two weeks is hardly informative.  (Though I suppose two weeks is nothing, compared to eight years.)
  2. Pay your policeman to take one day per week (or hell, even two), and patrol the roads during rush hour.  It can even be a little earlier than rush hour, say, at 6:15 a.m.  I guarantee that they could find plenty of money-making infractions which are far more life-threatening than an inspection which is one month overdue.  In fact, I’d even volunteer my time to assist in pointing out the ones who are careening in and out of lanes, tailgating, talking/texting while drinking coffee and “driving,” speeding, or even driving 45 miles per hour under the speed limit in the left lane.

Anyway, in the end, the Holiday Season will be prosperous for the Niskayuna Town Court.  They’ve got my eighty dollars, in addition to the thousands of dollars from other poor suckers who had even older infractions (so said the extremely lovely and congenial court clerk lady) in the moldy box of random paperwork found in the Town Court attic.

I am glad that my money can assist the poor and naked of Niskayuna, it truly warms my heart.

So with that, I say, Happy Holidays, Niskayuna Town Court!

And, I’m sorry for being a bad criminal.

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