Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Undertakers, Judges, and Defense Attorneys, Part Two

--Previously:  after a night at the nursing home involving a 100-year-old lady who thinks I'm killing her and the undertaker coming for another lady, I race to the Goshen courthouse for the 8am hearing of a friend. I arrive at the metal detectors 30 minutes late. I empty my pockets when I beep. I find that I've thrown a bandage scissors up on the counter. 


The deputy and I stare at the bandage scissors, both in disbelief.  We're trying to figure out who's going to talk first.

I break the silence.

"Ummmmm....I suppose that's not even supposed to be in here?" I say weakly.

"No it's not," the deputy replies, suddenly recovering the lead.  "You're choices are:" (she delivers it like a judge delivering a sentence) "take it out to your car, or I can dispose of it."  She says dispose as if she were handling the word with gloves. 

I slump against the counter.

"I suppose court is already started?" I ask.  I've probably missed the hearing already. My friend was up there alone with no support. (What kind of idiot takes a scissors into a courthouse?)

The two deputies look at each other. 

"There's no court going," they say.  "Court upstairs starts at 8:30."

Aha! I had the time half an hour wrong! I have 5 minutes to dispose of the offending scissor. I'm already out of breath, but I joyfully grab the scissors.

"Take the other things too," the deputy says, looking disapprovingly at the pin on my nametag, and the rest of my pocket riff-raff.

I beat the race against time, gasping from running twice through the bitter cold. I make it upstairs to the tiled floor leading into the dark courtroom with the massive wooden furniture. (I think they make those courtrooms super-sized so that people feel small.) I blink and look around for a place to sit. There she is, about three rows back. She's not expecting a support person, and a smile floods her face.

 I catch Judge Shoemaker looking at me past the sleek prosecuting attorney from the state.  I don't blame him because I'm glaring at the back of that sleek man, sitting on the edge of my wooden seat while the rest of the audience looks at their watches.

She's the second one called. It's good they didn't start at 8am. 

Judge Shoemaker observes that the debt my friend owes to the state--for being a prisoner!-- has increased from $3,600 to $3,800.

"You're going the wrong direction," Judge Shoemaker says with his crusty monotone.

What!? I want to yell at the judge. Are you going to send her to prison because of a few hundred dollars? I want to leap up and wave my arms and be an idiot (again). 

I catch Judge Shoemaker looking at me past the sleek prosecuting attorney from the state.  I don't blame him because I'm glaring at the back of that sleek man, sitting on the edge of my wooden seat while the rest of the audience looks at their watches.

The fat defense attorney shuffles papers and explains that she has secured a job and begun to pay, but because of a fire at her factory, has temporarily been laid off.

As I'm sitting there as tense as a guitar string, I wonder why the state's prosecuting attorneys are lean and well-dressed and the public defenders are overweight with out-dated beards?

One more month, Judge Shoemaker says. And the balance had better be less than $3,800 or you're going to prison.

I take her back to work release. She has 30 minutes to get back, so we get Dunkin' Donuts. We don't talk much.  They have no tolerance, she says, even if you have a late doctor's appointment or can't find a ride. I don't doubt that she also made violations on her own. 

Back at work release, there's a young man trying to open his truck but it's frozen shut. Finally the key breaks off. See, she says, that's a violation for him now if he can't make it to work. They don't care.

I drop her off. I want to offer this guy a ride to work, but the disapproving frowns of my family and friends stop me. 

I know this guy didn't end up in work release with a broken key by accident. He's probably a rule-breaker. I know my friend didn't end up in work release with a big bill by accident. I know there's a reason she's there.  She's probably a rule-breaker.  There was also a reason I was huffing and puffing when I got into the courtroom. I'm a rule-breaker. I take contraband into the courthouse. But when I break rules, I get sized up as a decent person who just got off night shift, and I get sent to my car, not to prison. 

May I never be disillusioned by helping people, like the public defenders. May I never be arrogant about who I am or what I have, like the prosecuting attorneys.

May I have the role of a public defender and the skill of a prosecuting attorney.

May I know that, at the end of the day, we're all rule-breakers, and we will all face a judge.