|
?:reviewBody
|
-
Allowing motorists to obtain personalized plates provides them with an opportunity to obtain something distinctively unique, something that commands far more attention than the usual humdrum string of letters and digits. Sometimes, though, one's choice of license plate can command an unexpected and undesirable form of attention. In 1979 a Los Angeles man named Robert Barbour found this out the hard way when he sent an application to the California Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) requesting personalized license plates for his car. The DMV form asked applicants to list three choices in case one or two of their desired selections had already been assigned. Barbour, a sailing enthusiast, wrote down SAILING and BOATING as his first two choices; when he couldn't think of a third option, he wrote NO PLATE, meaning that if neither of his two choices was available, he did not want personalized plates. Plates reading BOATING and SAILING had indeed already been assigned, so the DMV, following Barbour's instructions literally, sent him license plates reading NO PLATE. Barbour was not thrilled that the DMV had misunderstood his intent, but he opted to keep the plates because of their uniqueness. Four weeks later he received his first notice for an overdue parking fine, from faraway San Francisco, and within days he began receiving dozens of overdue notices from all over the state on a daily basis. Why? Because when law enforcement officers ticketed illegally parked cars that bore no license plates, they had been writing NO PLATE in the license plate field. Now that Barbour had plates bearing that phrase, the DMV computers were matching every unpaid citation issued to a car with missing plates to him. Barbour received about 2,500 notices over the next several months. He alerted the DMV to the problem, and the agency responded in a typically bureaucratic way by instructing him to change his license plates. But Barbour had grown too fond of his plates by then to want to change them, so he instead began mailing out a form letter in response to each citation. That method usually worked, although occasionally he had to appear before a judge and demonstrate that the car described on the citation was not his. A couple of years later, the DMV finally caught on and sent a notice to law enforcement agencies requesting that they use the word NONE rather than NO PLATE to indicate a cited vehicle was missing its plates. This change slowed the flow of overdue notices Barbour received to a trickle, about five or six a month, but it also had an unintended side effect: Officers sometimes wrote MISSING instead of NONE to indicate cars with missing license plates, and suddenly a man named Andrew Burg in Marina del Rey started receiving parking tickets from places he hadn't visited either. Burg, of course, was the owner of a car with personalized plates reading MISSING. Nonetheless, some motorists still choose personalized plates destined to land them in similar trouble. Jim Cara of Elsmere, Delaware, found that out the hard way when he selected the phrase NOTAG for the license of his Suzuki Hayabusa motorcycle in 2004: A similar tale was reported about a Florida motorist in 2012: Los Angeles Times columnist Steve Harvey collected a few more similar tales from readers in August 2004: In October 2009, the Birmingham News reported on Hunstville, Alabama, resident Scottie Roberson, who — in homage to his nickname (Racer X) and his favorite number (seven) — had obtained personalized plates bearing a string of seven X's: 'XXXXXXX.' Suddenly, within a year's time, Roberson received multiple mailed notices of parking violations, totaling more than $19,000 in fines, from the city of Birmingham — even though he had taken his car to that city on only a single occasion in the previous five years. The culprit was his license plate:
(en)
|
![[This page as RDF]](http://data.gesis.org/claimskg/static/rdf-icon.gif){kind=icon}