Back in 2009, my roommate and I decided to see Underworld: Rise of the Lycans upon its release, as we both were fans of the previous films (and I'm a guy who hates vampires). We tried, on no less than five weekly occasions to see this film in the theater, all of which were unsuccessful for various reasons. First, my car's fuel pump gave out during a drive back home from my roommate's folks' place. Second, I got sick. Third, she got sick. Fourth, I left my wallet at home. Fifth, the theater's recorded message gave us the wrong time. As a result, to this day, despite its release on DVD, we've still never seen it. It's almost a fear.

I don't believe in fate, but sometimes the increased visibility of patterns and coincidences amidst randomness is the brain's way of telling us that we're missing something very, very important.

In the words of Ron White, "I told you that story to tell you this one...."

The Darkest Hour came out on Christmas day, and with it bearing a premise vaguely reminiscent of Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within (inhuman creatures visible only by the effects of their energy fields) I was rather keen to see it, even if it looked rather terrible (when the producer's credits include Wanted, I'm not optimistic). Unfortunately, the only theater near me playing it was at the Chesterfield Mall, at least a good half hour away. Driving a long distance to see a relatively short movie is a kind of coveted earmark of film buffs that I hadn't achieved, so I took this as a challenge and made an outing of it.

Two days ago (Monday), while driving through Ellisville to the theater, an extremely bored police officer in an unmarked car* flashed his lights and pulled me over because my license plate expired at the end of November and I hadn't changed it yet despite getting a safety inspection before Thanksgiving. It was bad enough that I was already running late, but to make matters worse, my insurance card had expired exactly four days earlier and I hadn't thought to change it out with a newer one, so I got two tickets instead of one. I took this as a sign and didn't see the film. If it sounds like I'm making too big a fuss out of it, I was, mostly because I was convinced the tickets were for at least 300 dollars each, and it took a trip to the police station (which was incidentally right on the way back) to clarify that the number giving me the worst kind of sticker shock wasn't a dollar amount, but an ordinance number. There I was, sulking in a parking lot for forty minutes, trying to work out my finances, because I was somehow convinced that 384.050 meant that sometimes the justice system demands half-pennies. I'm normally calm enough in a crisis to see the flaws in a thought pattern like that, so, once again, I took it as a sign.

Yesterday, I called the courthouse to see if I could just send in my proof of insurance instead of presenting it in person (or if I could at least just stop by anytime instead of the exact time and date). I never got a straight answer, which I expected, so it seems I am going to have to make an appearance. I don't mind this, since along with that little bit of information, I found out that if I also bring proof that I updated my license plate in the interim between getting the ticket and the court date, I can get the fine reduced. After work, I raced over to Union, where the license fee office is located, and waited in line for ten minutes only to find out that, at about five minutes to closing, I was missing the receipt for my property taxes from last year. Actually, it wasn't missing; I hadn't paid them because I moved during that year and never got the form in the mail thanks to how the department of revenue essentially fails to acknowledge change of address forms. I had just under five minutes to run to the government building one block east to pay the taxes and get the receipt before they (and the license office) closed. I took this as a challenge. Despite getting lost once, I got to the government building before the front door was locked, only to stop dead in my tracks in the lobby as I realized I had no idea where inside the building to go. A security guard came out of an elevator and asked if he could help me. Given my black trenchcoat, long hair, slightly disheveled appearance (I work in a factory, not public relations), and looking equal parts panicked and exhausted (having just run a city block), I'm amazed the guard didn't reach for his gun. On top of that, not only do I have trouble asking for help, but I wasn't sure what to ask exactly, and wasn't even sure if he'd know where to send me, which would have led to me just blowing him off and rushing past him to a directory, which would have been really rude on my part. I knew I had to pay my property taxes, but I didn't know the name of the exact department I was supposed to pay them at. Luckily, just telling him I needed to pay property taxes was enough, and the desk I needed to pay them at was right around the corner. It took all of three minutes, but I didn't make it back to the license office in time.

On the plus side, this meant going to the license office today was an absolute breeze, and I was out of there within about five minutes, which now only leaves getting a half-day off from work on my court date so I can drive to Ellisville, wave my insurance card and license plate receipt in front of a clerk to get one ticket torn up and the other cut down to size, respectively.

The license plate fee I wholeheartedly own up to. Why? Absentmindedness and a few incidents in my personal life may have been small factors, but it was also something of an experiment, literally trying to see how long I could go before I'd be compelled to get an updated license plate. If that sounds like some foolish excuse, I offer two events in my defense, the most important being that the last time I tried this, I drove around with not only a plate that had been expired for a full year, but an out of state one as well (and only on my rear bumper, standard for New Mexico, but only semi-substantial for Missouri). That's the kind of vehicle that gets impounded on sight, but even when I'd get pulled over (for abusing the passing lane or driving home at a "suspicious hour" despite the street I came down having three gas stations, two fast food restaurants, and a 24-hr Walgreens) I'd get a warning at most. In fact, the only cop who ever said he might give me a ticket told me this when he was helping me push my car off the road after the fuel pump gave out, and, in light of the circumstances, left it at a casual observation. Given that and the events of two days ago, I guess I'd used up all my good karma.

The second event was not one that happened to me, but to the late Steve Jobs during a rather significant portion of his lifetime. Apparently, he drove a Mercedes Benz without a license plate for several years. According to California state law, whenever a car is cited for lacking plates, the owner (or lessee) has six months to get a plate for that particular car (essentially a more lenient version of my situation, where I can get a fine reduced if the plate is renewed in 30 days). For the sake of "playing a little game," Steve worked out a deal with the company he leased his Mercedes from wherein he'd get a new car about every six months, thus never needing to get a license plate and at most having to endure an occasional traffic stop, hardly an inconvenience to someone who can set his own hours.

There's believing in fate, there's ignoring fate, there's tempting fate, and then there's beating it. Who knows, maybe I'll see that movie after all.  

_{* Apparently, all police cruisers in Ellisville are completely black and without any police markings (even the lights are inside the car, just in front of the rear-view mirror and inside the front grill). I find this incredibly suspicious, as I've never seen this before outside of undercover missions. According to Yahoo! Answers, the state of Missouri has no requirements for marked patrols. I don't have anything against law enforcement, but there's a world of difference between protection and paranoia, and the cops out here tend to jump at shadows, which doesn't do their public image any favors as is, let alone when they're jumping at them from all-black cars. Just something to think about.}