It was the summer of 2010, and I'd recently endured what was handily among the messiest and most heartrending breakups of my adult life. When I eventually began casually seeing someone else, we both agreed that discretion and low-pressure scenarios were the best course of action. So when we decided to embark on our first official date, we thought we'd wisely avoid bars, clubs and the like — eliminate the risk of running into seething exes and potentially critical peers. What cuter, more romantic and (seemingly) more innocuous a destination could we choose, then, than Nashville's famed Love Circle?
I'd spent innumerable hours in college at the grassy hill with a panoramic view of downtown — something of a Nashville institution — trying to woo someone or impress someone or, hell, occasionally even actually trying to admire the view. My boss, Scene editor Jim Ridley, proposed to his wife there. I'd even written up the place in these pages as "unequivocally" the best spot to see the sun rise. So after dinner and a bit of aimless driving, my date and I mounted the serpentine trail up to Love Circle's highest point, leaving my vehicle near a "No Parking" sign I'd seen countless times, but never seen enforced.
It was near midnight, and a handful of other youngish night owls — some likely on dates, but none overtly amorous — were hanging around the crest of the hill in the shadow of Mt. Richmore. Braggadocious country star John Rich built his home atop Love Circle a couple years back, and in a stunning tribute to himself, named it Mt. Richmore. The lights, tour buses and industry parties at Rich's home proved to be consistent nuisances, and in July, Metro Council filed two ordinances to limit RV parking and road-closure permits on the hill.
We hadn't been atop the circle long before a squad car rolled up and an officer climbed the hill with flashlight in hand.
As mildly badass as it might be to admit that my date and I were busted for some deviant act — say, vandalism or smoking a doob — it just isn't the case. We were discussing astronomy and our mutual disdain for Sufjan Stevens' lyrics when the officer approached us and another couple, who also happened to be on their first date. (We'll call them "Boo-Boo" and "Honey Bear.") We were the only four who ostensibly lacked the presence of mind — or perhaps just the balls — to hightail it when we saw the squad car roll up. The officer informed us that we were trespassing on Metro Water Services property and that — while this had long been city property — its strict enforcement was a recent development.
To his credit, the officer was among the most polite I've ever dealt with, processing our citations efficiently and courteously, and acknowledging the unpleasantness of the whole rigmarole. He indicated that certain residents had pushed for an hourly patrol of the hill, and that he and other officers had been charged with doling out citations to anyone found there after 9 p.m. Honey Bear, Boo-Boo, my date and I were thoroughly frisked, cited in the back of a squad car, and sent on our way.
What ensued felt like a months-long comedy of errors. At our court date, we saw Boo-Boo and Honey Bear, who were no longer seeing one another and clearly were not on grand terms. After having our mug shots and fingerprints recorded, we were offered the expungement of our criminal trespassing charges in return for eight hours of community service and a temporary ban from Love Circle. Our court company included folks who were busted for suspended licenses and charged with vandalism, the most pregnant woman I've ever seen, and a man who, when told to tuck his shirt in, dropped his pants to his knees before doing so. (As it turns out, his charge was for public exposure.) There were even three young college students who, after movie night at their church, had also been cited for criminal trespassing at Love Circle. (Their story, reported in July by WSMV-Channel 4, made note of the fact that "Love Circle has just one [trespassing] sign, and at night, it's in the dark.")
For our court-mandated community service (via the Metropolitan Beautification and Environmental Commission), we were carted to places like Ashland City and Brentwood to pick up roadside trash and clear flood-deposited debris. Presumably honorable work, save the fact that most of our time served was spent in a van en route to our clean-up spots.
The entire experience felt humiliating and absurd — the word "asinine" even comes to mind. It cast even more pressure and unnecessary drama on a brand-new relationship. It forced us to miss work and wake up early for court. It cost us $113.93 apiece in court costs.
Metro Water Services and the Metro Police Department assured me that the nightly patrolling of Love Circle had simply been "a response to neighborhood complaints" over "loud noise, excessive traffic and underage drinking." Officers were being sent to the property "for the safety and protection" of the water reservoir that exists atop Love Circle, not to crucify youngsters for admiring the view. They were tired of the noise, and I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But at least I was with the right person.
Yes, we had to pick up gutter garbage and cigarette butts — while wearing egregiously unlaundered, one-size-fits-all orange mesh vests — alongside people who were serving upwards of 100 hours of community service for drunk driving. But we laughed about it. When our court date rolled around, we recoiled together at the pants-less man, we called out of work and we spent the rest of the day napping.
And somehow, my date never blamed me for carting her up to Love Circle and causing the whole mess, even though it was my idea in the first place. She didn't holler at me or dump me, as Boo-Boo had apparently done to Honey Bear. She didn't even ask me to pay her court costs, though I certainly would have. Instead, she decided to stick with me. Now I can say I have an extremely understanding, badass girlfriend who's seen me endure a thorough frisking and still respects me. I'd say that's worth at least $113.93.
