During one of my 2,500 mile road trips in the US (I did several a few decades ago), I was flagged down for speeding by a Native American police officer (as the incidence took place on what is an enormous reservation that takes up much of the State of Arizona).
He had been travelling in the opposite direction to me and I was in one of several white cars ascending an incline in the desert on the route to Page. I explained to him that he had mistaken my car for one of the several other white cars that had overtaken me and the reason that he had caught up with me in the first place was that the speeding car concerned was long gone and way ahead of me.
He stated that I had three options: to pay cash there and then, to go to Traffic School or to visit the Police Station/Court House in Page.
I deigned to do the latter as it wasn't going to inconvenience me unduly and I turned up on spec at the aforemention establishment and explained my situation to the lady on the counter and a large figure, who resembled The Chief in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, behind her stated that I needed to go to the end of the corridor and enter a certain door. As I opened that door and entered with my then-partner it became evident that it was a courtroom and the gentleman concerned entered through a door on a higher level which led him to his seat, which was surrounded by wood panels and betwixt two American flags. Yes, he was the judge.
I gave him a fawning explanation as to my being an upstanding pillock of the community and assured him that I was not the type of person to engage in such moral turpitude as to exceed the state speed limit (although I may very well have exceeded the ridiculous limit of 50mph in the desert concerned).
Unlike my partner, he seemed less than sickened by my extreme obsequiousness and let me off.