…though it hardly deserves to be called “a fight.”

On Wednesday, the fourteenth of this month, I parked on Grand Avenue in St. Paul. I parked there for just over an hour. As I approached my car after the hour, I saw papers affixed to my windshield wiper. Uh oh.

Immediately I began thinking of what I had done wrong. Was my car too far from the curb? No…I mean, it was about a foot from the curb but it stuck out less than other, wider vehicles. Had I parked in a handicapped or fire hydrant zone? No…I didn’t see any yellow curb or hydrants around. Was I parked in a No Parking zone? No…there were cars in front of and behind mine, and the sign said there was a two-hour limit.

By this point, I was at my car. I pulled the paper and envelope from the wiper and perused it. Turns out, I was indicted for violating statute 168.09.4: Expired Registration.

I looked at my plates. Yep…they were due in July.

How did I forget?

I hadn’t entirely forgotten. A few times in the past month, I contemplated when my tabs were due for renewal. I knew it was sometime in late summer, but I had this vague idea they were due in August or September. Silly me. I was thinking August, because August first is essentially the deadline. As for September…well, that’s my other car.

Jennifer was perflexed as to why we never received notice in the mail. I claimed the motor vehicle bureau no longer sends out notices since I hadn’t seen them last year, either. Jennifer said that’s ridiculous, how else are we supposed to remember when to renew our tabs? I argued that it kind of makes sense, since mailing out reminders is undoubtedly costly and, anyway, car owners should keep track of it themselves.

But then I did some research.

Turns out, my wife was correct: reminders are still mailed.

Then where was ours?

I immediately went online and purchased new tabs. Then I emailed the motor vehicle bureau and asked why we weren’t send renewal notices. An employee responded that they do not have our current address. I wrote back confused: My driver’s license, which I renewed shortly after moving (nearly two years ago) shows my current address, so when I went to renew my license, didn’t that update my address? Nope.

So take a lesson: Just because your driver’s license displays your current address does not mean that the motor vehicle bureau has that address on file as the one to send tab renewal notices to. I know, it seems odd to me, too.

As you can see, I kind of had an excuse here. Granted, my tabs were expired…but just barely. And, besides, I never received a reminder, even though I thought the bureau had my current address.

So I determined to call and request a hearing at the violations bureau. Yes, that was my grand idea: I would head downtown and fight City Hall! I would state my case and, in view of my extenuating circumstance, I would aruge for leniency in reducing, if not entirely dismissing, my $111 fine.

The man on the phone requested my citation number. After reading it to him, he said: “Oh, this is just for expired tabs?

Me: “Yes.”

Him: “Is this the only citation you’ve received for expired tabs?”

Me: “It’s the only citation I’ve ever received for expired tabs.”

Him: “Do you have the new tabs on your vehicle now?”

Me: “Yes.”

Him: “Okay, well you don’t need to request a hearing then.”

Me: “Oh, I don’t?”

Him: “No, just take pictures of your license plates showing the current tabs and send the pictures to me, along with your citation number.”

He then gave me his address and office number. He told me he was wiping the charge off my case, and that I would not have to pay the fine as long as the photos arrived in his office by September 15th. I, of course, got right on this and, even as we speak, the photos are on their way through the postal system. My next step is to call in five business days (so…just after Labor Day) and check that he has received the photos.

So, another lesson learned: If you get a citation for expired plates, renew the tabs immediately, call the violations bureau, and see about getting your fine waived.

I have to admit to being slightly disappointed. I was kind of looking forward to going down to City Hall and taking part in a hearing if, for no other reason, than to see how the system works. I figured worst-case scenario would be that I’d be no worse off than I was now, and $111 isn’t exactly the end of the world.

Still…I’ll take it!

My son opened his own business yesterday. As you can guess from the title of this blog (and the fact that he’s only 8 years old), his small business is a lemonade stand.

His immediate impetus for intitiating this endeavor is to garner enough cash to acquire a coveted Star Wars Lego set (valued at ~$45). But he has a more long-term goal of acquiring as much money as he can. In fact, he’s become quite the Alex P. Keaton lately, being excessively interested in counting his money, and grabbing change from the change machines before his mother or I can grab it.

I hadn’t realized the real-life experiences and lessons afforded from a simple lemonade stand until Owen expressed a desire to have one. I never operated such a stand when I was a kid (though I did play the computer game), but I’ve always tried to support them when I see them. So, when Owen said he wanted one, I immediately began using it as a teaching tool:

Where will you get the lemonade from?
The store

Do you have money to buy it?
Yes.

Will you buy it frozen? That’s cheaper.
Yes.

But then you have to make it. Can you do that?
Um…can you show me?

Sure. What are you gonna pour the lemonade into when people buy it?
We have cups.

Yeah, but we don’t want people walking away with our dishes. What about paper cups?
Okay.

So, do you have money for paper cups, too?
…And it went on like that. We discused advertising (e.g., signage), location, how to keep ice frozen while outside in the summertime, how to make change, and even how best to present the beverage. This included using a table cloth, ensuring his hands looked (and were!) clean, using tongs to grab the ice out of the cooler, placing the ice in the cup prior to pouring the drink, filling the cup pretty far (so that buyers feel they got a good value), but not so far that they risk spillage.

We also discussed price. I’ve frequently seen lemonade selling for 50 cents a cup, which is anywhere from double to quintuple the price I saw when I was Owen’s age. We decided to go with 25 cents a cup. We calculated that he would still be able to cover expenses at this price, but that it would still be low enough so that no one would decline the drink on account of price. I suggested that some people might just tell him to keep the change, too.

Owen was able to cover his costs this way:
Table, chair, bag for money: Previously owned
Ice, cooler, table cloth, disposable cups, trip to the grocery store, tongs, plywood, paint: Provided gratis by parents
Lemonade: Start-up cost covered by Owen

After returning from the grocery store (where Owen spent just over five bucks for four cans of frozen lemonade), we painted a sign to advertise his stand. This took two tries, as Owen initially painted the words so large, he could only fit LEMONA on the sign before he ran out of room. He would’ve ran out of room on the other side, too, if I hadn’t stepped in and finished the letter M so it didn’t take up a quarter of the board.

Owen set up shop on the west end of our property, near the corner (to maximize exposure). He began right around noon – equipped with four books to read while he waited. I had to replace those books once he finished them, and then I had to replace those.

He stayed out there for five hours – coming into the house only twice to use the bathroom. I kept telling him he could wrap it up if he wanted, but he was insistent on staying out there. We kept moving his table to keep him (and his beverage) in the shade. Isla even asked him to fill up their watering cans and water the rose bushes, but he told her to go fill them, and then she brought them over and he helped her water the bushes (which were near his stand). I stayed outside the whole time, a safe distance away so I wasn’t hovering. I worked in the garage mostly, and sometimes I sat around the corner and read.

I had three hopes for Owen: First, I hoped he sold something, because I would’ve felt just terrible if no one came (and an employee at the grocery store helpfully informed us that his daughter tried her hand at a stand the day before and didn’t have any luck). Second, I wanted him to break even with the five bucks he spent. Third, I wanted him to have a desire to do it again, on a busier day (Friday and Saturday would be better for business, actually).

To my delight, Owen sold his first cup within ten minutes after setting up shop; a guy walking by purchased one glass. Then a mom came by with her children and bought her two daughters each a glass. Then some guy pulled his car over, and gave Owen 35 cents for a glass. Then another woman drove by, gave Owen a thumbs-up and told him to keep up the good work. Which…isn’t exactly what Owen wanted…but it’s nice when a new business feels wanted by the community.

Then our neighbors came home, and the woman walked over to get a cup for her and her husband. When she walked by me, I thanked her for supporting the local economy, and she said it’s such a hot day, the thought of lemonade sounded good to her. A neighbor girl from down the block, not more than ten or eleven years old, walked over and bought two cups. Later, a man on a bike gave Owen a dollar for a cup and, according to Owen, “didn’t care for his change.” Then another man pulled over his minivan and purchased four cups – one for everyone in his family. Isla, of course, also wanted lemonade, and I thrice had to give her money to bring over to her brother to buy a cup. The first time this happened, Owen giggled with delight that his little sister actually had a quarter for him and was acting just like a “real” customer.

Owen isn’t exactly sure how much profit he yielded. He wasn’t sure how much money he started out with in his bag, and a few people gave Owen more than the asking price, so he couldn’t just count up the number of cups he used. All in all, though, he made somewhere over nine dollars which, after expenses, is over four dollars profit. And half of his inventory is still in the freezer, so his next go around will begin yielding profits right away.

Speaking of profits, I asked Owen if he was going to report his income for tax purposes, but he said no. I think he makes a good point: No taxation without representation, as they say, and since Owen is disenfranchised, he should not be expected to pay for a government in which he is given no say.

Let’s just hope the FDA doesn’t come running…

Way back on the third of July, someone driving too fast sideswiped our parked car and smashed our sideview mirror into a dozen pieces. The driver, later determined to be a “he,” also scuffed up the driver’s side doors. He continued, unabated, down the road and turned the corner a block later.

His decision to keep on going was a bad idea.

Primarily because, being who we are, Jennifer and I have a general practice of hunting down people who wronged us and demanding that justice be served. You can ask the managers of several restaurants, hotels, stores, hospitals, and online retailers who have awarded us thousands of dollars over the years due to their negligence.

So there we were, minding our own business in our yard, when SMASH!, the four of us hear a loud noise. Jennifer quickly deduced that the driver had hit our car. I was under the mistaken impression the driver had merely thrown something at our car but, either way, bad move, buddy.

In his defense, he might have assumed the owner of the vehicle wasn’t anywhere near the car. Most of the cars parked on our road are for people who are patronizing nearby restaurants. And even the people who, like us, do live in the neighborhood, probably aren’t standing outside, within twenty feet of their vehicles.

Another possibility is that he was “under the influence,” and figured that the slight chance of getting caught for a minor hit-and-run accident was a safer bet than pulling over, giving me his insurance policy…and having me insist the police come over…who would then check his blood-alcohol level…which would turn out to be…not exactly legal. So drive on he did. 

I ran out into the street waving my arms trying to get the driver to stop. When I saw he wasn’t going to, I repeatedly spoke his license plate number while my wife entered the number in her phone. We called the cops, received an accident report, took pictures of the injuries to our vehicle and then, a few days later, received the name, address and phone number of the offender.

So I called him. A woman answered the phone. She was his wife. She knew nothing of her husband’s hit-and-run and felt really bad about what he had done. She even gave me his work number, telling me to call him at work. I was hesitant to do this. “Is it okay if I bother him at work?” I asked. She said, “Oh, I don’t care, he needs to deal with his problems.” So…yeah…this was starting to sound like a bad idea. The last thing I wanted to do was bother someone with a history of “problems” at work, where I might embarass him in front of his coworkers or boss. So I pressed her a little more to just give me her insurance policy number. She put the phone down to go look for it. When she came back to the phone, I could tell she was very upset. In fact, she even started crying and apologizing.

This was really weird.

I explained to her that I held no ill-will to her husband, and certainly not to her. I just needed to get my car repaired, and, as far as I can tell, they should be the people who foot the bill for the repairs.

So then I called her insurance company and explained the problem.

And now I’m happy to announce that our car is good as new back to the way it was before the accident. No cost to us. Not even for the rental car we had for the week while our car was at an auto body shop.