Oops, I Did It Again

A Short Story

Jo-Yoon Kim, 20

Los Angeles, California

🔸

So first of all, I want to say that I did not wake up this morning planning to start a revolution.

I woke up because my alarm went off, yeah?

I hit snooze four times, and then my brain very gently whispered, “Jo-Yoon. Remember that parking ticket?”

And I’m like.

Oh yeah.

That.

Forty-five for parking in the red. Another hundred and fifty for letting the due date totally slip my mind.

Which is not catastrophic. But it is enough money that you feel it.

It’s like five bags of groceries. Or one mildly irresponsible Wayfair purchase.

So I stared at the ceiling for a minute and thought,

You know what? I am a capable adult. I can fix this.

If the stars are willing.

I made coffee. I clipped my hair up in a bun. I used that little yellow flower clip I found on the sidewalk a while ago. (It still feels lucky. I don’t question it.) I threw on my black hoodie with the “free the leaf” button pinned to it because it makes me feel like myself. Like I’m not on my way to court. Like I’m just…

Living my best life.

I wore shorts and Crocs. (This may or may not become important later.)

🔸

The courthouse was very big. Also very concrete. Which is possibly the most unwelcoming material a building can be made out of, yeah?

But I skipped up the steps, tugged open the door and stepped inside wearing my most eager smile.

I immediately felt like I’d accidentally entered the kingdom of the uber serious.

Like maybe I’m supposed to be carrying a briefcase. Like I should have a pen that writes in black ink.

Instead I had a pink pencil from my junk drawer.

Whatever. I was determined to complete my mission, yeah? And to do so cheerfully.

And then I saw security.

Because why wouldn’t there be security?

There’s a gray metal detector. A gray conveyor belt. Little gray trays for your keys and your phone and your dignity.

I took a deep breath and stepped into line feeling very responsible. Very adult. I shrugged off my hoodie, which immediately made me feel emotionally exposed.

I took a tray and dumped my phone and my keys and my hoodie in. The line inched forward.

I saw a sign. It shouted at me, “PLEASE REMOVE SHOES AND BELT,” though I did appreciate the word please. Then it said, “NO BEVERAGES.”

I checked my waist. It’s a drawstring. I’m 90 percent sure that didn’t qualify as a belt. But shoes and coffee? Not so good.

I dropped my latte in the trash chute because apparently beverages are suspicious. I stepped out of my Crocs, gave a little shrug, and tossed them in too.

For good measure.

I turned back to the conveyor belt and watched it carry my stuff away, riding into the machine like a little gondola through It’s a Small World.

And I started humming.

Because I like the song and it makes me happy.

It’s a small world after all…

It’s a small world after all…

It’s a small world after all…

It’s a small, small world…

The woman behind me grinned, but I could tell she was puzzled.

I smiled back like, yeah, this is normal me.

And then my heart did a little boop.

Because I remember…

…in my hoodie pocket

…is a tiny bag of weed

…like, teeny tiny.

Hardly enough to matter. Just a polite amount. A supportive amount. An amount that says, “In case of emotional turbulence, smoke gently.”

I am in no way a rebel. I just forgot, yeah?

Or maybe (okay, hear me out on this) my subconscious brought it along because my subconscious takes mental health very seriously. One never knows when a minor inconvenience (or a major one, for that matter) might pop up during the course of a day. And sometimes, in those moments (like that moment, for instance), one needs a warm hug from the stars.

I froze.

Like, dramatically froze.

My brain tried to calculate whether weed is metallic. It is not metallic. I knew this. Brainy brain still tried to calculate.

I looked at the security guard. He wore the calm expression of a man who has seen everything. Which immediately made me feel like he could definitely see into hoodie pockets.

I considered my options.

Option one: Panic and confess immediately, which felt unnecessary because it’s not even illegal in this state.

Option two: Lunge into the machine, expose myself to gamma radiation, risk becoming She-Hulk or the fifth member of the Fantastic Four, retrieve the little bag, crawl out, and run for the hills.

Option three: Trust the stars.

I choose option three.

I step forward. I walk through the metal detector.

I hear a series of loud beeping sounds.

My soul leaves my body.

The guard looks at me.

I blink.

Then Mr. Guard waved someone behind me forward because apparently it beeped for them, not me.

I let out the breath I’d been holding for what felt like the last two years.

My hoodie rolled out the other side of the machine. Like it just woke from a nap. Untouched, unopened, unsuspected, uninspected.

I picked it up.

I slid my arms into it like it was the warmest, safest place on Earth, felt around in the pocket, smiled, and walked away very calmly.

On the inside, I was glowing, bro.

I am not saying this was divine intervention.

But maybe it was the universe saying, “You’re fine, Jo-Yoon. Go handle your business.”

That felt like a good omen.

Or at least… a friendly wink from the stars.

🔸

Then there were lines.

So many lines.

Lines for things I didn’t understand. Lines for information. Lines for big cases. Lines for little cases. Lines for filing. Lines for other lines.

I got in one.

It was the wrong line, of course.

That felt like another metaphor, but I didn’t know for what.

Eventually I made it to the right window and a woman slid a long form toward me without smiling. Which is fine. I wasn’t expecting confetti. But the form was complicated. Double-sided. Like the parking ticket had grown a personality and now required documentation.

“Do you have a pen?” she asked me.

I blinked.

“I have a pencil.”

“You came to the courthouse without a pen?”

“I… um…”

She grunted, handed me one anyway.

Another kindness.

I went and sat down to fill out my existential parking confession.

The chairs in the hallway were the plastic kind that attach themself to your thighs like a medical instrument. Or maybe I was just nervous. I started filling things out.

At first it was normal. Name. Address. Citation number.

Then it got deep.

Why did I believe the citation was issued in error?

What were the circumstances?

Did I have witnesses?

Witnesses?

It was me and a parking meter.

I chewed on the lady’s pen and tried to be thoughtful. I didn’t want to be dramatic. I just wanted to explain that I had coins. I tried to pay.

I am not an outlaw parker.

Some questions didn’t make sense. I started over. Then I messed up again. I got another form. Then another. Soon there were crumpled sheets at my feet, gathering around my socks like paper petals of confusion.

At one point I stared at the form and thought, okay, Jo-Yoon. What is the truth here?

The truth is: I tried to give the city money. The machine didn’t want it. I panicked. I maybe shook it. I maybe nudged it with my foot in a “please cooperate” kind of way.

It was not malicious.

I was trying to motivate the meter.

So I wrote and I wrote, explaining just that, and continued writing in the margins… sideways.

Eventually I finished and turned the paper in.

The clerk read, flipped the page very fast, shook her head and told me to report to Courtroom Nine-Nine.

Nine.

Nine.

That sounded dramatic. Like the opening chords of Law & Order.

I got in an elevator and rode it up to the ninth floor. It stopped on every single level. Every open and shut of the doors felt like a little opportunity to reflect on my life choices.

Then I walked down a long hallway to “the back,” which sounds like something you never want to do in a horror movie.

And I opened the heavy door.

🔸

The courtroom was enormous.

Like, gothic cathedral enormous. Flags. A mural. Oak paneling. The “Great Seal of the State of California.” A bailiff with a pistol on his hip. Intimidation carved into wood.

Every seat was taken, of course.

I waited in the aisle for what felt like an hour while cases were called, shifting from one sock to the other.

Finally a seat opened and I sat.

And then, just as suddenly, I heard my name.

“Kim, Jo-Yoon.”

I jogged forward because someone gestured impatiently and I was learning the wisdom of being extremely obedient in official buildings.

The judge took one look at me and said, “Young lady, is that your idea of appropriate dress when appearing before the court?”

I looked down.

Shorts and little white socks.

I started explaining about the crocs, but all he did was shake his grey head like he thought I was maybe talking about zoo animals.

He interrupted, and said he’d let it go this time. But if I ever thought about coming to court like that again, I was admonished to think twice.

By then I felt about one inch tall.

“You’re here about a parking ticket.” He declared.

Then he looked at me. The bailiff looked at me. The clerk looked at me.

I turned around.

The whole audience looked at me.

Well? they all seemed to say.

So I launched into my story.

How I walked a block to get change. And how I ran back to the meter with coins in my hand. Dropped some along the way. Tried to feed the meter. Dropped another coin. Picked it up. Tried again. Turned the handle thingie. Spilled the rest of my coins. Hugged the machine. Pleaded with the machine. Shook the machine.

And then.

The little kick.

It wasn’t even a real kick. It was an impatient nudge.

The judge asked, very calmly, if maybe I had “broken the parking meter.”

“I think it was already broken,” I said, very politely.

He did not blink.

And then I started talking.

And I couldn’t stop.

I said I tried to comply. Because I had.

I said sometimes machines malfunction and maybe that shouldn’t automatically mean a fine.

I said rules are important, but sometimes things are just mistakes, yeah?

And life is a long series of little mistakes. And little successes too, I added, to be honest.

And there’s a moment for each of them, yeah? It goes like:

mistake

success

mistake

success

mistake

And if you added them all up, like I’m sure the stars do (because the stars are keeping track), they all turn out to be roughly equal, yeah?

And wouldn’t it be nice if the world in general, and society specifically, and here I referred to the municipal government in particular, treated our little mistakes (specifically mine) like the stars do?

Here I paused for effect.

All’s I got was blank stares.

So I continued on.

I might have said something about the time-space continuum.

I might have said something about late-stage capitalism.

Maybe something about Trump.

I might have noticed the bailiff fidget out of the corner of my eye at that.

I might have mentioned shared responsibility. Tax dollars. The human condition.

I don’t know where it all came from.

I hadn’t been trying to make a speech. I promise I wasn’t.

I just kept talking because no one interrupted me.

And the room got quieter than quiet.

My face got warm.

Oh no, I thought. Am I oversharing again? I am.

So I finished softly.

“I’m not trying to get away with anything,” I said. “I just want to do the right thing.”

Long pause.

The judge stared. Shuffled the papers. Scribbled something. Looked at the ceiling like he might be asking the clouds for patience.

Then he said:

“Ticket dismissed.”

I blinked.

“Really?”

I wanted to hug him. I glanced over at the bailiff as if asking permission to do just that.

“Goodbye, Ms. Kim, before I change my mind,” the judge said.

And that was it.

I almost expected dramatic music. Maybe fireworks.

People clapped a little. It was very sweet. I felt like a minor celebrity.

I made a little curtsy, grabbed my papers, and ran to the exit, sliding in my socks as I reached the double doors.

I walked outside feeling light as the sun. Semi victorious, even. And definitely relieved.

I found my car.

And there, under the windshield wiper, was a brand-new ticket.

I stared at it, and thought, wow.

That is incredible timing.

And then I laughed. Like really laughed.

Because of course. It was the stars saying, “That was cute, Jo-Yoon, but let’s keep you humble.”

mistake

success

mistake

I peeled the ticket off. I leaned against my car. I laughed until my shoulders shook.

Okay, round two, I thought.

I stamped back up the stairs and into the courthouse.

Because, to be honest, I am a fuck-up, yeah?

That’s my life.

But somehow things always even out.

The stars willing.

🔸