Order in the Court

Off to court, a traffic accident, er, bumper tap. No damage, but the other driver was a Hertz employee who swore she needed a report. Admitted that if it was her car it'd be info exchange and gone. Instead, the swat-outfitted suburban cop appears, writing a ticket for, "failure to assure clear distance." Clear this, copper!

Ticket in hand I appear, armed with pictures of my scratch-less bumper, dreams of articulating inocence so handily that the judge throws out the ticket and apologizes.

I sit amongst the motley assemblage: the guiltys, guilty as hells, innocents, faux innocents, wish I was innocents, don't they know that I'm innocent--and, for that matter, who the hell I am?! Me? I'm just a guy looking for a quick exit and zero fine.

There's a girl nervously tapping toes in her brown knee-high boots, brown pleather jacket, brown cowl neck sweater. A guy next to her running the sweater vest "I'm an upright citizen" ploy with his poindexter glasses and trimmed beard. A well-coiffed mom comforts her blond pony-tailed sorority-looking daughter. Shlubs in ball caps, gum snappers, half-hearted smirkers and a couple of women earring out giant gold hoops. Power to the people.

Court personnel jocularity irritates. We glum lot sit in anxiety flowing like the wine that once flowed into a DUI. Meantime the clerks, cops, paper-shuffling functionaries and lawyers on the clock flit around like all is folly. One slicky boy attorney backslaps the Prosecutor, "How's Kathy? Kids? Going to Florida?"

Justice grinds on, the flashing LED monitor reminds, "Turn off your cell phone, if it goes off when the magistrate or judge is on the bench it will be confiscated and their will be a contempt fine added to your costs." Sit and await your fate.

My result? No good. The fine and costs total $300. Justice is blind, and a jerk to boot.