April 25, 2015

You Can't Handle The Stink

Yesterday I had the opportunity to live out every lawyer's dream. To stand in a court room and boldly defend my rights and freedoms in dramatic fashion not unlike Jack Nicholson in that Tom Cruise movie about needing someone on a wall. You know the one.

Flashback to July 2014 when I find 2 trumped up parking tickets on the car. One is for having an incorrect plate, the other for parking longer than 3 hours. I'll spare you the details but trust me - they're bullshit tickets. So I opted to fight the oppressing bastards and have my day in court.

I arrive at the Scarborough court room amongst a hundred other people with the same idea. Right off the bat, the prosecutor says to everyone that they'll reduce any fines by 1/3 if you plead guilty, which is fine by me. See, at first I had thought my tickets were a total of $80 which are worth fighting in my view. At closer inspection they totalled  $60, so it's getting close to the point where it's not worth the hassle.

Anyway, even though I took the express deal, you still have to sit and listen to the judge go through the details of everyone's case. The shifty looking paralegals get first priority, largely defending new Canadians who don't speak English. One guy gets up with his paralegal and the judge goes on and on, only to reveal that the original ticket was for $15. Fifteen. I wanna strangle this guy on principle.

This shit never happens in real life.
But wait, there's more. As I sat waiting for my name to be called, a creeping stench wafted it's way into my nostrils. I then realized I was smack dab in the middle of the kind of mosh pit you never wanna dance in.  Think about any movie you've seen set in 17th century medieval England, where the peasants with black teeth throw rotten vegetables. Over fifty years ago man landed on the moon, yet some members of the human race have yet to discover basic hygiene.

And so it went. As things droned on, I looked at the bored-looking judge and wondered if she was thinking about the time she was a young bright eyed lawyer, ready to Erin Brockovich the shit out of any asshole who got in her way. Is this how she figured her dynamic legal career would end up?

In any event, my name was finally called.  I noticed earlier that when one guy was called up, he bowed when he approached and left the "presence" of the judge. Not only that, but he even walked backwards before turning around and leaving. What the hell is this? Game of Fucking Thrones?

But, I get it..it's meant to be symbollic, respectful and such. Fair enough, but then I also noticed the defendant's podium with a bible, where you're supposed to place your hand on it and swear to some Marshmallowey-white man in a robe who lives in the clouds. Maybe I was over thinking things, but this reminded me of the dangers of Dogma, and since I've already cut the deal with the Prosecutor, I figure I'm just gonna go up and be polite, but no bowing crap.

In the end, my tickets were reduced to $20. But then I start thinking and pull out a calculator. Let's add up the cost of being away from work, the cost of gas, the aggravation of everything, and then add $100 for the stench...

In the immortal words of The Clash, I fought the law, and the law won.


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