Outfit worn on day two. Thank the Universe for Etsy & Baphomet Barbie!
An hour to go and my half asleep ass is rousted from my now semi-comfortable chair. As humans we can adapt to just about anything, in no time. I was comfortable and not in the mood to move.
The clerk yelled my name and I gathered up my shit and headed for the door. Amused was not my middle name.
About 40 of us were moved into a courtroom on a higher floor, lead by a bailiff. I was getting more riled up than usual. I texted just about everybody I knew to let them know I was going in. At the time I didn’t know why, I chalked it up to boredom.
As soon as I walked into the courtroom I started to sweat. I was burning up. I snarled at the judge who told me to move further down on the bench, scowled at the DA and plopped my ass down.
I ripped my jacket off. I was hotter than hell and I figured I’d let prejudice rear it’sugly head and get me the fuck out of there.
I was called in the first group to go up and be interviewed. It was a burglary case. From 2011. The guy supposedly took a phone and some indeterminable amount of money. I was trying to figure out how the fuck I was guaranteed to get thrown off. I hadn’t seen the questionnaire yet and wasn’t sure if just being unable to be objective because I “hate the system” was enough.
I realized I might be okay I once the questioning started. I kept my snear permamnetly glued on my face. And I had an out, I had been robbed before. Awesome. Now why was I still sweating and nervous? I felt like I was the one on trial.
Other people were talking about robberies and their objections and the judge was arguing with them. Fuck me.
Now it was my turn. State your name, age, where you live, occupation, education etc.
#7 Have you ever been the victim of a similar crime?
“Yes I have. I was held up at gunpoint, my money, phone and shoes were stolen.”
The judge asked me if I reported it.
“No I did not.”
He asked why.
I smiled. Time for the truth.
“I was really high at the time.”
He made a weird face and kind of chuckled.
“Ok, where did this happen?”
“Lovely Detroit, Michigan, four years ago.”
He laughed again and I finished the questions.
Friends with cops? A laugh and a no to that one. Some more no’s and then #11, can I be objective?
“I don’t feel as though I can be objective. I have a huge problem with the legal system and that.” I pointed to the In God We Trust plaque above his head.
“Of course you do. Next person.”
Score.
The DA left me alone, he didn’t have any questions and sure as shit didn’t want me on a panel.
The Crimanl Defense Attonrney asked me why I had a problem with the system, the judge said it didn’t matter, just skip me and I piped up that I had previous drug and alcohol charges. Bye-bye birdie. I didn’t want him picking me and this judge had to want to veto my ass, big time. Thank god for that psych class in college where I had to write a paper on jury selection.
Anyway, the 20 questions ceased and we were herded into a small, stuffy room. I was sick of looking at these people. They smelled like llama puke and were the “business” type I don’t blend well with.
They were all going ape shit now. Angry and frothing. Besides myself and the Indian woman who didn’t speak much English, they were all pretty well fucked, having no real excuse to be kicked off.
I wasn’t in that room more than 5 minutes and I heard the judge say, “And get Monahan out of here!”
(I’m still laughing about that!)
I threw my coat on, grabbed my bags and stood by the door. Some chick dressed in a getup that was the many shades of different kinds of moss, piped up, “where are you going?”
Just then the bailiff walked in.
“Monahan, (two other names I don’t remember), you’ve been excused. Head down to the third floor and get your dismissal papers.”
I turned around and looked at the mossy bitch, “Should have had a drug problem.”
I smiled at the judge on my way out and winked at the DA who wouldn’t take his eyes off me. He looked like a deer in headlights. I guess girls don’t wear leather jackets where he’s from.
I counted my blessings walking the fuck out of there and contained my laughter.
As soon as I was out I had a good chuckle. What a fucking circus. My bad behavior paid off. Granted no one should purposefully should get themselves arrested on a drug or alcohol charge to get out of future jury duty; but it was a nice little bonus to cleaning up. An, oh look, a silver lining to my previous asshole behavior.
As I was walking out, I had the same feeling that I had when being let off of an intense rehab/probation program.
Like I had gotten away with something.
Everything else made sense.
The intense anger, anxiety, loathing, sweating, overheating, ridiculous laughter upon being freed.
These were all things brought on by being in court. I had been conditioned due to my past experiences. Thanks again psych degree!
Looks like I’ll never be getting married in a courtroom. They obviously give me the creeps, Bubba.
Now I can enjoy my 6 years of freedom, till the next time I get called. I’m crossing my fingers I get black balled…
Check out the blog on it's home site @
www.hihaveyoumetme.com for previous writings and more.
Don’t forget to stalk me further at https://twitter.com/#!/hihaveyoumetme orhttp://www.facebook.com/authorkatemonahan
An hour to go and my half asleep ass is rousted from my now semi-comfortable chair. As humans we can adapt to just about anything, in no time. I was comfortable and not in the mood to move.
The clerk yelled my name and I gathered up my shit and headed for the door. Amused was not my middle name.
About 40 of us were moved into a courtroom on a higher floor, lead by a bailiff. I was getting more riled up than usual. I texted just about everybody I knew to let them know I was going in. At the time I didn’t know why, I chalked it up to boredom.
As soon as I walked into the courtroom I started to sweat. I was burning up. I snarled at the judge who told me to move further down on the bench, scowled at the DA and plopped my ass down.
I ripped my jacket off. I was hotter than hell and I figured I’d let prejudice rear it’sugly head and get me the fuck out of there.
I was called in the first group to go up and be interviewed. It was a burglary case. From 2011. The guy supposedly took a phone and some indeterminable amount of money. I was trying to figure out how the fuck I was guaranteed to get thrown off. I hadn’t seen the questionnaire yet and wasn’t sure if just being unable to be objective because I “hate the system” was enough.
I realized I might be okay I once the questioning started. I kept my snear permamnetly glued on my face. And I had an out, I had been robbed before. Awesome. Now why was I still sweating and nervous? I felt like I was the one on trial.
Other people were talking about robberies and their objections and the judge was arguing with them. Fuck me.
Now it was my turn. State your name, age, where you live, occupation, education etc.
#7 Have you ever been the victim of a similar crime?
“Yes I have. I was held up at gunpoint, my money, phone and shoes were stolen.”
The judge asked me if I reported it.
“No I did not.”
He asked why.
I smiled. Time for the truth.
“I was really high at the time.”
He made a weird face and kind of chuckled.
“Ok, where did this happen?”
“Lovely Detroit, Michigan, four years ago.”
He laughed again and I finished the questions.
Friends with cops? A laugh and a no to that one. Some more no’s and then #11, can I be objective?
“I don’t feel as though I can be objective. I have a huge problem with the legal system and that.” I pointed to the In God We Trust plaque above his head.
“Of course you do. Next person.”
Score.
The DA left me alone, he didn’t have any questions and sure as shit didn’t want me on a panel.
The Crimanl Defense Attonrney asked me why I had a problem with the system, the judge said it didn’t matter, just skip me and I piped up that I had previous drug and alcohol charges. Bye-bye birdie. I didn’t want him picking me and this judge had to want to veto my ass, big time. Thank god for that psych class in college where I had to write a paper on jury selection.
Anyway, the 20 questions ceased and we were herded into a small, stuffy room. I was sick of looking at these people. They smelled like llama puke and were the “business” type I don’t blend well with.
They were all going ape shit now. Angry and frothing. Besides myself and the Indian woman who didn’t speak much English, they were all pretty well fucked, having no real excuse to be kicked off.
I wasn’t in that room more than 5 minutes and I heard the judge say, “And get Monahan out of here!”
(I’m still laughing about that!)
I threw my coat on, grabbed my bags and stood by the door. Some chick dressed in a getup that was the many shades of different kinds of moss, piped up, “where are you going?”
Just then the bailiff walked in.
“Monahan, (two other names I don’t remember), you’ve been excused. Head down to the third floor and get your dismissal papers.”
I turned around and looked at the mossy bitch, “Should have had a drug problem.”
I smiled at the judge on my way out and winked at the DA who wouldn’t take his eyes off me. He looked like a deer in headlights. I guess girls don’t wear leather jackets where he’s from.
I counted my blessings walking the fuck out of there and contained my laughter.
As soon as I was out I had a good chuckle. What a fucking circus. My bad behavior paid off. Granted no one should purposefully should get themselves arrested on a drug or alcohol charge to get out of future jury duty; but it was a nice little bonus to cleaning up. An, oh look, a silver lining to my previous asshole behavior.
As I was walking out, I had the same feeling that I had when being let off of an intense rehab/probation program.
Like I had gotten away with something.
Everything else made sense.
The intense anger, anxiety, loathing, sweating, overheating, ridiculous laughter upon being freed.
These were all things brought on by being in court. I had been conditioned due to my past experiences. Thanks again psych degree!
Looks like I’ll never be getting married in a courtroom. They obviously give me the creeps, Bubba.
Now I can enjoy my 6 years of freedom, till the next time I get called. I’m crossing my fingers I get black balled…
Check out the blog on it's home site @
www.hihaveyoumetme.com for previous writings and more.
Don’t forget to stalk me further at https://twitter.com/#!/hihaveyoumetme orhttp://www.facebook.com/authorkatemonahan