A couple weeks ago I chucked away a billable afternoon at Murray's Freelance Writing in order to go to contest a parking ticket in person.

I did this partly because I was outraged at the charge: I'd gotten a ticket for briefly getting out of my car at O'Hare to hug my sister-in-law and her girlfriend goodbye as I dropped them off after their Thanksgiving visit here. It was a good hug, but it wasn't worth $90.

I also did it because I thought I'd feel more connected--to my city and even my country--by actually participating.

Had I forgotten all my Kafka? This "connection" was somewhat undermined by:

• A metal-detector and a police pat-down at the entrance to the court building.

• An impassive hearing officer who managed to radiate three messages from her pores: (1) I will not be rushed. (2) I've heard it all, suckers. (3) I'm not only good at not giving a crap, not giving a crap is my core competency.

• And a court procedure that absolutely forbade communication.

I was invited to make a statement about the circumstances of my ticket. At the end of my statement, the judge asked whether that was all I had to say. I should have said, "That depends on what you say in response!" I didn't. I said that was all.

In finding for the city (big surprise!) the hearing officer said a couple of things that I didn't agree with. But I'd already said (under oath) that I had said all I'd wanted to say.

Bang, went the gavel: $90, please, and if I didn't pay within three weeks, my car will be "boot eligible."

I had wanted at least to get an answer to the question: "Is it illegal to hug your sister-in-law and her girlfriend at O'Hare airport after their Thanksgiving visit?"

But the hearing officer was so big and I was so little. I thanked her meekly for her consideration and slunk out of the hearing room and out into the rainy cold afternoon, not quite crushed, but certainly not feeling inspired by my participation in our democracy.

On the dreary way home, a troubling idea popped into my softened skull: Is this how an CEO town hall meetings feel to employees? Like a tease? Do they communicate the opposite of what they're meant to communicate? Do they say:

"Hey, you can talk to the CEO! But you'd better distill all your ideas and feelings about the company built up over 10 thoughtful years into 30 seconds, and if the chief misunderstands or dodges your questions, well--tough gazzotts, pal. You can't say you didn't have your chance."

I've advocated CEO town meetings over the years, mostly as a way for executives to say symbolically to employees: "I'm interested in hearing what you have to say."

But if town meetings feel to employees anything like my day in court felt to me, maybe the truth is that there's no way to "say" you're interested in listening. You either listen, or you don't.