Justice for All You Son-of-a-Bitches
A couple of months ago I was driving the wrong way down a one-way street when this lady had the audacity to smash into the side of my car. I received two tickets and a sure insurance increase to go along with my missing fender flare.
Well, I finally had my day in court today. Unfortunately there were 100 or so others who shared my appointment time. We were herded like cattle into a room that was way too hot. I got there 15 minutes early so I took my place in line - 32nd from the front. Another bit of misfortune struck as I was standing next to a woman of about 70 years of age who took to bitching about anything and everything, including her speeding ticket - she was tagged at 76 in a 65 - and it smelled to her like a setup. I did a lot of nodding.
"Look at the money these sons-of-bitches are making," she moaned. "Why don't they concentrate on getting drugs and violence out of the neighborhoods? Why are they picking on common people who are just trying to get to work or to the store?"
"I don't know," I said. "I deserve what I get, I suppose."
"We might deserve it," she said, "but these sons-of-bitches could treat us better. It's hot in here. I'm tired of standing, and I have things to do today. Do they think they can just keep me waiting while the sonovuabitchin' judge does who knows what?"
My head was spinning. They finally called my name.I met with the prosecutor for a moment and he was a pleasant enough guy. (I must tell you, I will be paying more for my ticket than Marshawn Lynch did for his running down of that lady). Yet, I got what I had coming to me.
"What a sham," the lady said as she regained her position next to me. "The son-of-a-bitch reduced mine to a parking ticket."
"Well, that's good, right?" I tried.
"Yeah, good for whoever's getting the surcharge. These son-of-a-bitches!" She plucked an evaluation form from a room beside the courthouse. "I'm going to give these people a what-for, you'll see."
"That's a good idea," I said. "You know what would be even better?"
"What's that?" she asked.
"Tell the judge he's a son-of-bitch when he knocks your speeding ticket down to a parking ticket."
"Well, no," she said, confused. "That wouldn't go over too well."
She turned away from me and for the next few minutes in the courtroom, I didn't hear her nasally whine. Instead she turned to the guy to her left and started giving him her sob story.
Three sentences in, the guy, who was also tired of nodding, just simply walked away. He didn't say goodbye, shut up - not a single word - he just walked clean away. The woman tapped me on the shoulder - "Can you believe that guy?" she asked.
"He's a son-of-a-bitch," I said, hiding a smile.
Well, I finally had my day in court today. Unfortunately there were 100 or so others who shared my appointment time. We were herded like cattle into a room that was way too hot. I got there 15 minutes early so I took my place in line - 32nd from the front. Another bit of misfortune struck as I was standing next to a woman of about 70 years of age who took to bitching about anything and everything, including her speeding ticket - she was tagged at 76 in a 65 - and it smelled to her like a setup. I did a lot of nodding.
"Look at the money these sons-of-bitches are making," she moaned. "Why don't they concentrate on getting drugs and violence out of the neighborhoods? Why are they picking on common people who are just trying to get to work or to the store?"
"I don't know," I said. "I deserve what I get, I suppose."
"We might deserve it," she said, "but these sons-of-bitches could treat us better. It's hot in here. I'm tired of standing, and I have things to do today. Do they think they can just keep me waiting while the sonovuabitchin' judge does who knows what?"
My head was spinning. They finally called my name.I met with the prosecutor for a moment and he was a pleasant enough guy. (I must tell you, I will be paying more for my ticket than Marshawn Lynch did for his running down of that lady). Yet, I got what I had coming to me.
"What a sham," the lady said as she regained her position next to me. "The son-of-a-bitch reduced mine to a parking ticket."
"Well, that's good, right?" I tried.
"Yeah, good for whoever's getting the surcharge. These son-of-a-bitches!" She plucked an evaluation form from a room beside the courthouse. "I'm going to give these people a what-for, you'll see."
"That's a good idea," I said. "You know what would be even better?"
"What's that?" she asked.
"Tell the judge he's a son-of-bitch when he knocks your speeding ticket down to a parking ticket."
"Well, no," she said, confused. "That wouldn't go over too well."
She turned away from me and for the next few minutes in the courtroom, I didn't hear her nasally whine. Instead she turned to the guy to her left and started giving him her sob story.
Three sentences in, the guy, who was also tired of nodding, just simply walked away. He didn't say goodbye, shut up - not a single word - he just walked clean away. The woman tapped me on the shoulder - "Can you believe that guy?" she asked.
"He's a son-of-a-bitch," I said, hiding a smile.
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