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Court.
18 years ago
General
My appollogies on the length of this entry. Though I believe you all my find this interesting. Below is a real-time account of my experience in court the other day. It was recorded on the computer, unedited, and is now posted for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy.
Ryuujin C. S.
The Scribble Dragon
Entry: 01/09/2008
I’m appearing in a court trial today for a trolley offense. I’m scared out of my fucking mind because I know I’ve missed previous court appearances… and they know it. I can’t afford to cover the expenses of this case. I have no money. I don’t know what to do… In less than one hour I will appear before the judge… and beg. I suppose that’s all one can do in such a situation. I’ve never had to appear in court without my lawyer, but today I’m stuck on my own. Gods help me; pray that they do not discover my misdeeds in NC. I cannot afford this… Osiris I’m scared. Goddess help me. Grant me the protection I need in this: my time of need. Blessed be, so mote it be.
There’s so much on my mind at this moment… as a devotee to my religion I would normally attempt meditation. However at this time I feel so panicked that I do not know if I would be able to.
Deep breathing helps a little.
Along the walls there are placards of our nation’s Constitution, our Bill of Rights, and other famous legal documents. What stands out among them however is no ancient document, but rather a white square with bold blue letters which read in capital letters, “FREEDOM SHRINE”. The irony is inescapable.
I’ve entered the courtroom now, along with the dozens of other violators of the law. Minor or major they may be; I do not know. I take a seat; third row from the back, fifth seat in. I appear to be the youngest member in here, save for the two young men sitting one row ahead of me to my left.
The bailiff prepares a cup of coffee for the judge who has not made herself (or his self?) present yet. The interpreter arrives, taking a seat.
I can feel my heart beating in my chest like an old fashioned drum with the skin pulled too tight. It’s a unique feeling that I haven’t experienced in many years, the last of which was during my first major car accident.
I try to calm myself with more breathing, but it only works for a moment. There is hushed talking all around. Many here seem rather calm, though it is clear that I am not the only one here with bothered nerves.
The atmosphere alone is enough to entice a panic attack. It is a poorly lit courtroom; the lights are rather dim, casting a yellow haze across the entirety of the room. The chairs are too large, and make one feel small to sit in them… and insignificant. The soft hum of an old air conditioning unit in disrepair can be heard behind me to my right. There are two enormous black and white pictures mounted on the wall to far to my left; I look to see another behind me. The colors and moods set by the pictures only add to the eeriness provided by the yellow glow.
Ten names are called-- mine is not among them-- and those called seat themselves at the first row bench.
The typographer now arrives, and begins idle conversation with the translator.
Papers are stacked.
A heavy door closes in the distance.
There are a few late arrivals, who make their way to open seats, and sit down in the rustic squeaking chairs.
The bailiff passes tissues to someone in the front row, and makes a joke to lighten the mood. One or two laugh.
A clock on the wall to my right marks the time… over an hour has passed since I arrived at the courthouse on a bus this morning at 7am. At least the secondhand is silent… though it seems to stop occasionally as if to taunt me. “You are frozen in time,” it seems to say to me, “and you shall remain here guilty until proven innocent.”
As I cast my gaze right of the clock, I notice a sign I had not seen before which reads:
NO FOOD OR DRINKING
NO GUM CHEWING
NO READING
NO SLEEPING
NO SUNGLASSES
NO HATS.
It seems rather oppressive.
The judge has arrived. Court is now in session. It is eight thirty exactly. Those who speak Spanish and need a translator are separated from the rest of those present.
The judge begins speaking, and goes over the rules of this particular court. He’s very polite, calm and kind. His voice alone is reassuring. To be honest I don’t feel quite as bad now. Yet I realize that when I plead guilty to the offenses I’ve committed, I will be destitute once more. He states that monthly plans are available. After five minutes I realize he is not actually being polite, but rather just reciting what would appear to be a script.
I am in here for two things: a trolley violation, and a failure to appear in court for a previous court appearance. The latter is what bothers me. This is not my first failure to appear in the last year. I am terrified of what might occur if these instances catch up with me.
It is now exactly 8:44am. It has begun.
The judge moves swiftly through the cases, in less than one minute he has already moved through 2 cases, and a third is nearly complete. Traffic court… seems rather simple. Another and yet another handful of cases are passed through.
I have no idea what I should say… things are moving too quickly. A man steps up named Michael Howwitt. He looks almost exactly like my friend Big Mike back home in North Carolina. It provides a moment of amusement.
More names are called. Not mine, of course-- “You are meant to wait” says the clock on the wall. I have been awake since 5am in dread fear of this moment. Not knowing what to do is far worse torture than anything at this moment.
The judge recognizes the next defendant as his workout partner at the YMCA. They laugh a bit, and it provides brief levity amongst the other defendants. Must be nice to have a judge for a friend.
Community work… I could do that… maybe work off a monthly payment plan… my mind races as I try to determine what to say when I approach the microphone at the defense podium. More names are called…it is 9pm, and my name still has not been called. I make a quick prayer to the gods. Goddess Isis, please ease my nerves… grant me your protection… Fafnir grant me strength… Draconis grant me guidance… Grael grant me peace… Odin grant me wisdom…
More names… its five after nine. Please call my name…
No.
I’m so hungry… “I’m Going Slightly Mad” starts to play in my head… I laugh to myself, “I love Queen.”
I ask the guy next to me if we’re allowed to exit the courtroom to use the restrooms. He says yes, and I quickly and quietly exit to relieve myself.
The bathrooms were easy enough to find; when I entered I was displeased to see the same eerie yellow lights, and graffiti scrawled across the walls. I exit as quickly as I can, and re-enter the courtroom to find that the previous list of names is nearly completed. I’m surprised to find solstice in the courtroom. The slight contrast between the restroom atmosphere and that of the courtroom is enough to release a bit more tension. I find my previous seat, and resume the wait.
Again he calls names, and again my name goes unspoken. Another bailiff then addresses those not called, listing off names of people to meet him outside. I am not called, of course, and the momentary lapse of hope passes.
Its now 9:20, and he lists 10 more names. I’m not expecting to be called anymore. One of those called has a warrant on him outside of San Diego. Suddenly I’m terrified again. I may have a warrant on myself for being over a year late on my court date in NC.
My name is called first in the following batch of defendants. I make my way up to the microphone, and am incredibly relieved to find that my NC tickets are not being taken into account. However he does have my ticket for my previously missed court date here in San Diego.
I plead guilty on the first offense which I missed “due to being given two different court appearance dates,” which was mostly true; the courtesy notice had a different date than what the officer told me, and different from what my initial ticket read. On the second charge I plead ‘not guilty’, and present my trolley ticket that had been missing on the date of the charge. Thankfully he dismisses it, fines me thirty dollars for my first offense and an additional $100 for missing the court date. I am incredibly relieved, in spite of the fact that I now owe more money to more people. More money that I don’t have.
I thank the gods for the judge’s lenience…
When I enter I discover an even more poorly lit room, filled with nearly as many people as there were in the courtroom. There is a long wait, and I recommence my waiting. Its not as bad now, since I know what to do (more or less). By now it is 9:30am, and I am almost done with an ordeal that I have been dreading for quite some time…
My laptop’s battery is nearly dead, so I plug in to a wall outlet. As I arrange a make-shift workstation, it dawns on me that I will no longer be able to afford rent… and again I pray that my boyfriend will forgive me when I inform him. I want to make a phone call, but I can’t get a signal. I see a payphone, and suddenly I regret providing such a generous tip to my server last night. With no cash on me, I do not know if I have enough money in the bank to cover my fines.
At least I have a pass to cover bus fare.
The waiting is unbearable.
Did they call my name? I can hardly tell.
I merely wish to go home, take a cold shower, shave, and call my loved one.
The man who sat next to me is waiting here too. His face, like the faces of so many here right now, is long and drawn in its frown. People here are depressed. It’s a mutual feeling, and everyone seems to understand it.
Its 9:50, and my name is called. I head up to the counter, and am asked merely to sign the dismissal form. Then I am told to wait again for my name to be called by the collectors in regards to my missed case. Again with the waiting. I begin feeling less and less like a person, and more like a thing that is being pushed around like a box in a factory.
The mechanical method of this place seems like something out of George Orwell’s 1984. Its unnerving. I am at the point of breaking, when they suddenly call my name, and I find myself signing papers, and walking out the door. It was over in an instant. Rather anticlimactic, I thought, but oh well.
I catch a bus downtown, and sit down to eat at the first Indian restaurant that I find. And as I sit here sipping my tea, and eating my bread, I look back on this day and smile. Today a lot was done. I feel accomplished, and I can’t wait to go home, and finally rest.
This concludes my rather long entry for today. So ends another of my scribbles. Good day to you all, and until next I scribe, ciao.
Ryuujin C. S., the Scribble Dragon
Ryuujin C. S.
The Scribble Dragon
Entry: 01/09/2008
I’m appearing in a court trial today for a trolley offense. I’m scared out of my fucking mind because I know I’ve missed previous court appearances… and they know it. I can’t afford to cover the expenses of this case. I have no money. I don’t know what to do… In less than one hour I will appear before the judge… and beg. I suppose that’s all one can do in such a situation. I’ve never had to appear in court without my lawyer, but today I’m stuck on my own. Gods help me; pray that they do not discover my misdeeds in NC. I cannot afford this… Osiris I’m scared. Goddess help me. Grant me the protection I need in this: my time of need. Blessed be, so mote it be.
There’s so much on my mind at this moment… as a devotee to my religion I would normally attempt meditation. However at this time I feel so panicked that I do not know if I would be able to.
Deep breathing helps a little.
Along the walls there are placards of our nation’s Constitution, our Bill of Rights, and other famous legal documents. What stands out among them however is no ancient document, but rather a white square with bold blue letters which read in capital letters, “FREEDOM SHRINE”. The irony is inescapable.
I’ve entered the courtroom now, along with the dozens of other violators of the law. Minor or major they may be; I do not know. I take a seat; third row from the back, fifth seat in. I appear to be the youngest member in here, save for the two young men sitting one row ahead of me to my left.
The bailiff prepares a cup of coffee for the judge who has not made herself (or his self?) present yet. The interpreter arrives, taking a seat.
I can feel my heart beating in my chest like an old fashioned drum with the skin pulled too tight. It’s a unique feeling that I haven’t experienced in many years, the last of which was during my first major car accident.
I try to calm myself with more breathing, but it only works for a moment. There is hushed talking all around. Many here seem rather calm, though it is clear that I am not the only one here with bothered nerves.
The atmosphere alone is enough to entice a panic attack. It is a poorly lit courtroom; the lights are rather dim, casting a yellow haze across the entirety of the room. The chairs are too large, and make one feel small to sit in them… and insignificant. The soft hum of an old air conditioning unit in disrepair can be heard behind me to my right. There are two enormous black and white pictures mounted on the wall to far to my left; I look to see another behind me. The colors and moods set by the pictures only add to the eeriness provided by the yellow glow.
Ten names are called-- mine is not among them-- and those called seat themselves at the first row bench.
The typographer now arrives, and begins idle conversation with the translator.
Papers are stacked.
A heavy door closes in the distance.
There are a few late arrivals, who make their way to open seats, and sit down in the rustic squeaking chairs.
The bailiff passes tissues to someone in the front row, and makes a joke to lighten the mood. One or two laugh.
A clock on the wall to my right marks the time… over an hour has passed since I arrived at the courthouse on a bus this morning at 7am. At least the secondhand is silent… though it seems to stop occasionally as if to taunt me. “You are frozen in time,” it seems to say to me, “and you shall remain here guilty until proven innocent.”
As I cast my gaze right of the clock, I notice a sign I had not seen before which reads:
NO FOOD OR DRINKING
NO GUM CHEWING
NO READING
NO SLEEPING
NO SUNGLASSES
NO HATS.
It seems rather oppressive.
The judge has arrived. Court is now in session. It is eight thirty exactly. Those who speak Spanish and need a translator are separated from the rest of those present.
The judge begins speaking, and goes over the rules of this particular court. He’s very polite, calm and kind. His voice alone is reassuring. To be honest I don’t feel quite as bad now. Yet I realize that when I plead guilty to the offenses I’ve committed, I will be destitute once more. He states that monthly plans are available. After five minutes I realize he is not actually being polite, but rather just reciting what would appear to be a script.
I am in here for two things: a trolley violation, and a failure to appear in court for a previous court appearance. The latter is what bothers me. This is not my first failure to appear in the last year. I am terrified of what might occur if these instances catch up with me.
It is now exactly 8:44am. It has begun.
The judge moves swiftly through the cases, in less than one minute he has already moved through 2 cases, and a third is nearly complete. Traffic court… seems rather simple. Another and yet another handful of cases are passed through.
I have no idea what I should say… things are moving too quickly. A man steps up named Michael Howwitt. He looks almost exactly like my friend Big Mike back home in North Carolina. It provides a moment of amusement.
More names are called. Not mine, of course-- “You are meant to wait” says the clock on the wall. I have been awake since 5am in dread fear of this moment. Not knowing what to do is far worse torture than anything at this moment.
The judge recognizes the next defendant as his workout partner at the YMCA. They laugh a bit, and it provides brief levity amongst the other defendants. Must be nice to have a judge for a friend.
Community work… I could do that… maybe work off a monthly payment plan… my mind races as I try to determine what to say when I approach the microphone at the defense podium. More names are called…it is 9pm, and my name still has not been called. I make a quick prayer to the gods. Goddess Isis, please ease my nerves… grant me your protection… Fafnir grant me strength… Draconis grant me guidance… Grael grant me peace… Odin grant me wisdom…
More names… its five after nine. Please call my name…
No.
I’m so hungry… “I’m Going Slightly Mad” starts to play in my head… I laugh to myself, “I love Queen.”
I ask the guy next to me if we’re allowed to exit the courtroom to use the restrooms. He says yes, and I quickly and quietly exit to relieve myself.
The bathrooms were easy enough to find; when I entered I was displeased to see the same eerie yellow lights, and graffiti scrawled across the walls. I exit as quickly as I can, and re-enter the courtroom to find that the previous list of names is nearly completed. I’m surprised to find solstice in the courtroom. The slight contrast between the restroom atmosphere and that of the courtroom is enough to release a bit more tension. I find my previous seat, and resume the wait.
Again he calls names, and again my name goes unspoken. Another bailiff then addresses those not called, listing off names of people to meet him outside. I am not called, of course, and the momentary lapse of hope passes.
Its now 9:20, and he lists 10 more names. I’m not expecting to be called anymore. One of those called has a warrant on him outside of San Diego. Suddenly I’m terrified again. I may have a warrant on myself for being over a year late on my court date in NC.
My name is called first in the following batch of defendants. I make my way up to the microphone, and am incredibly relieved to find that my NC tickets are not being taken into account. However he does have my ticket for my previously missed court date here in San Diego.
I plead guilty on the first offense which I missed “due to being given two different court appearance dates,” which was mostly true; the courtesy notice had a different date than what the officer told me, and different from what my initial ticket read. On the second charge I plead ‘not guilty’, and present my trolley ticket that had been missing on the date of the charge. Thankfully he dismisses it, fines me thirty dollars for my first offense and an additional $100 for missing the court date. I am incredibly relieved, in spite of the fact that I now owe more money to more people. More money that I don’t have.
I thank the gods for the judge’s lenience…
When I enter I discover an even more poorly lit room, filled with nearly as many people as there were in the courtroom. There is a long wait, and I recommence my waiting. Its not as bad now, since I know what to do (more or less). By now it is 9:30am, and I am almost done with an ordeal that I have been dreading for quite some time…
My laptop’s battery is nearly dead, so I plug in to a wall outlet. As I arrange a make-shift workstation, it dawns on me that I will no longer be able to afford rent… and again I pray that my boyfriend will forgive me when I inform him. I want to make a phone call, but I can’t get a signal. I see a payphone, and suddenly I regret providing such a generous tip to my server last night. With no cash on me, I do not know if I have enough money in the bank to cover my fines.
At least I have a pass to cover bus fare.
The waiting is unbearable.
Did they call my name? I can hardly tell.
I merely wish to go home, take a cold shower, shave, and call my loved one.
The man who sat next to me is waiting here too. His face, like the faces of so many here right now, is long and drawn in its frown. People here are depressed. It’s a mutual feeling, and everyone seems to understand it.
Its 9:50, and my name is called. I head up to the counter, and am asked merely to sign the dismissal form. Then I am told to wait again for my name to be called by the collectors in regards to my missed case. Again with the waiting. I begin feeling less and less like a person, and more like a thing that is being pushed around like a box in a factory.
The mechanical method of this place seems like something out of George Orwell’s 1984. Its unnerving. I am at the point of breaking, when they suddenly call my name, and I find myself signing papers, and walking out the door. It was over in an instant. Rather anticlimactic, I thought, but oh well.
I catch a bus downtown, and sit down to eat at the first Indian restaurant that I find. And as I sit here sipping my tea, and eating my bread, I look back on this day and smile. Today a lot was done. I feel accomplished, and I can’t wait to go home, and finally rest.
This concludes my rather long entry for today. So ends another of my scribbles. Good day to you all, and until next I scribe, ciao.
Ryuujin C. S., the Scribble Dragon
*pat pat* Thank you.