Court might let Runaway Bride off easy, but not Fashion Police
By Beth Teitell
Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Whatever you think of the Runaway Bride, you've got to admire her hourly rate.

Yesterday, as you no doubt read, heard, saw, received an e-mail alert or a text message about, Jennifer Wilbanks mowed the lawn of a government building in Georgia as part of her court-ordered community service for lying to police after fleeing her wedding.

Wearing an orange community service vest, a baseball cap that said ``Life is good'' and running shoes, Wilbanks reportedly seemed ``upbeat'' as she pushed a power mower past a swarm of reporters and photographers.

Who wouldn't be cheerful at $248 an hour? That's right, no decimal point between the two and the four, or even the four and the eight. Not counting the $500,000 book deal she got from Regan Media, running away was the best career move Willbanks ever made.

As you may recall (even if you try not to), the city of Duluth, Ga., where Wilbanks had lived with her fiance (does he have a book deal? Or just a raw deal?) spent nearly $43,000 to search for her after she disappeared before her April wedding. One cross-country jaunt and a fanciful tale of kidnapping later, she 'fessed up to self-abduction.

She's repaid $13,249 so far, which leaves $29,750, which, the way I figure it, is what she's working off with her community service. All 120 hours worth.

Hey, I know some doctors and lawyers who wouldn't mind making that kind of money. Even some columnists.

In fact, after figuring out how much Wilbanks was pulling in, I marched into my editor's office and threatened to run away.

``Be my guest,'' she said.

``Does that mean you're not going to look for me?'' I asked.

She allowed herself a small smile, which I took as a ``no.''

I offered her the rights to my life story, but was again rebuffed, so I returned to my desk, stewing over the unfairness of life.

In addition to the court-ordered mowing, Wilbanks, the poor dear, has already washed public vehicles and cleaned probation offices, and the State Department of Corrrections' plans call for her to pick up some trash, too. It will be light stuff, no doubt, ice-cream cone wrappers and paper-cup lids, that kind of thing.

The way her luck's running, she's probably getting sick time, dental benefits and vacation days.

But it's not just the money Wilbanks is earning that bugs me. It's the message her community service stint is sending. I don't know about your childhood, but where I grew up, mowing the lawn, doing some light cleaning and washing cars weren't in the penal category.

They went by another name: chores.

In a funk, I reread all the stories to see if there was anything punitive that I could grab onto, and I realized there was one: Wilbanks' outfit. Who could possibly look good in an orange vest and a baseball cap?