My Stunned Gorilla Is Still Less Confused Than The Oblivious, Miffed & Mad

Last night was an odyssey into the stupid, the odd, and the downright irritating.  When I say irritating, I mean grain of sand stuck in the loins while hiking through rough terrain irritating...

We had a lengthy trial session, but no one was unpleasant, just long-winded.

Then, for the mandatory appearance calendar, we had far more people than could be seen in one hour, let alone seated in the courtroom.  We also had a large number of translation matters, which slows things as well.

The commisioner, always game, began the instruction.

One of the crowd, a very large mammal with a great villain's glower, decided to interrupt, "Can I say something?"

"Just wait," says the commisioner, "then when it's your turn before me, you can ask your question then."

"No, I want to say-"

My Gorilla ain't havin' it. "No, sir!" I interrupt, "Wait your turn, as instructed. Do not interrupt the court again.  You can leave, or you can wait silently, those are your options." 

He glowers, even pouts a little, but shuts his mouth.  He's still shaking his head, and because he's a large mammal standing in the back of the courtroom, his every movement is obvious to the court staff. My Gorilla starts pacing back and forth, but eventually settles down to pick at his fur.

As usual, we have a few people come into the courtroom early that are scheduled for 6:30.  I tell them the usual, and after the fifth interruption, I step out for a moment to tell the waiting crowd that we are going to be late getting to their matter.

There is a man waiting in the hall who had mistakenly come to our trial session earlier in the day. I distinctly remembered him because he wore a black velvet tux jacket, matching bow-tie and pink ruffled shirt.   He has returned, but must have considered the tux too formal for an evening engagement and is wearing a Juicy sweatsuit.  Picture Rick James with a relaxed perm and you won't be far off.

So, as I turn to re-enter the court Rick James says from behind me, "Excuse me, Officer."

I turn to him.  I catch him staring at my ass.  My Gorilla doesn't even bother to get up at this point.  I do work where I work, after all.  I am no homophobe; indeed, I have been told by many women and a few men of whose desires run that way, that I have a nice ass.  Some have even called it great.

The stare lingers longer than it ought to, though, so I say, "My eyes are up here, sir."

Rick James doesn't reply, but he does bring his gaze to meet mine.

"What was your question?"

Rick James sniffs, tosses his hair, but doesn't otherwise deign to reply.

Blinded by anger, my Gorilla howls and charges the cage, stunning himself in his eagerness to slap some little-girl squeals from Rick James' mouth. 

"I do not appreciate your inappropriate conduct, sir.  Mind your manners."

Just as happy my Gorilla is still stunned, I return to the courtroom.

Inside, the atmosphere has changed from when I left.  And not for the better. I walk around the counter, see that Her Honor is on her feet, speaking to the crowd at large, "He is a trained law enforcement officer, his firearm is perfectly safe and he is armed merely to keep us safe.  There is no cause for concern, he's trained how to use it." 

My Gorilla is still too stunned from the headlong rush at the bars to really build a head of steam, so I manage to add, with relative good humor, "And when not to."

Things settle,but the atmosphere remains strained. Court resumes.  Suspecting Large Mammal instigated something while I was out, My Gorilla gets to his feet and starts wobbling around his cage.

I get a text from one of the clerks.  He tells me Large Mammal had been laughing when I left court, attracting Her Honor's attention.  When told to stop disrupting the court, he decided to ask if it was legal for officers to have a gun in the court, claiming he thought it dangerous.  The tail end of Her Honor's response to that being what I heard on re-entering the courtroom. 

Glad to have that confirmation of my assessment of all the elements in the equation, I settle down for a tense session, even give the Gorilla a little slack to give Large Mammal my gimlet glare.

Rick James enters the court.   Miffed he can't get a seat, he sets about attracting everyone's attention with a whine-and-pout routine.

Her Honor tells him that a seat will be opening up in a bit, provided there aren't any additional disruptions.

He doesn't get the hint. "Well, your guard or whatever was all angry 'cause I was lookin' at him," Rick James says as he leaves the courtroom.

My Gorilla snorts and huffs, sounding suspiciously like, 'Motherfucker.'

Court resumes.

Large Mammal's matter is seen to.  He's very difficult to understand.  His madness does not touch on our reality in very many places, and where it does, it does so lightly.

When he leaves, I go outside to make another announcement, asking for patience.  Rick James is in a sulk, but his lover is there to pat his hand.

I return to the courtroom.

At about 6:40, in comes Pirate with his Parrot, causing a bit of a stir.  Pirate claims the animal is a service animal. I think the Parrot is the brains of the operation, or at least translates Pirate into English while manipulating his host like a ventriliquist.

"Yes, it's a parrot.  Get over it," I tell the crowd.  I lower my voice and tell Pirate he's early, not late.  I remembered the pair from their last visit.

A group enters the courtroom, rather noisily.  "If you are here for 6:30, we aren't quite ready for you. Wait outside and I will come get you when we are.  If you are late, be seated and be silent."

"Six-thir- Ok," says the young lady in front, getting it and turning to leave.

Her Honor, growing impatient with the repeated disruptions, tells the group, "Be silent or leave."

The last man in the group ignores us both, looks at me and asks, "So you'll come get us?"

This monolithic display of stupidity draws uncomfortbale titters from the crowd.  Rarely have they been so entertained, I'm sure.

My Gorilla starts to whimper.  Where are these tormentors coming from?

 I give my best 'Really?' stare to Oblivious.

Oblivious doesn't get it, of course.

I continue.

Oblivious eventually edges out of the courtroom, his question unanswered.

At least for him.

I go get him and the rest at 7:15.

Kicking Stones, Court, & Pirates

It has been a while since I related any stories from work, but yesterday events and people in the court rendered so much material for the mill I feel I must write this...

Everyone and their brother shows up late for the five-thirty calendar, usually late and completely careless of the fact that they are on sufferance already. The sense of entitlement pools in the room, stagnating thought. Tonight is no exception.

At about six o'clock, the antechamber door swings open. I hear it because I'm meant to, the squealing hinges left that way so I the bailiffs know the door has been opened. Something punctuates the squeal though, a short quarking bark of noise.

'What the fuck was that!?' I think. I'm not terribly interested, really, the day has already been long and aggravating, and the calendar looks to stretch it longer and lend more aggravation to my tattered patience.

The noise is followed by someone in the antechamber trying to put themselves back together after having gone through security downstairs; belt jangling, muttered imprecautions, etc. Again, nothing unusual.

Court is in session, so I am monitoring everyone; from those before the commissioner making their excuses and those waiting for their turn to do so.

It's the late-comers that kill me tonight, as usual. Having missed my firm admonitions at the beginning, they enter with fanfare and eventually plop down to wait. I say eventually because most ask me if their name has been called.

I feel I must digress a bit here, because I have five problems with their approach:

#1) As bailiff, I am not in control of the court calendar, and it's not my place to influence the running of the court. In other words: I don't fucking know.

#2) They usually don't tell me their name. In other words: How the fuck should I know if I could actually do something about it?

#3) You're fucking late! The few who arrived on time don't need you slowing the already slow processes of the court further because you were unable to get your shit together to handle your business! In other words: Sit down, shut up, and we will all get along fine!

#4) When they do approach me, usually asking if they are in the right place or if the court has already called their name, I reply, "If you are here early for six-thirty, you can wait outside. If you are late for five-thirty or any other time, or just don't know when you were to be here, have a seat and wait."

Usually they are so caught up in their own little world of late-ass arrival and being called on their shitty driving that they do the absolute worst thing they can when dealing with me: They don't listen to me and then interrupt me, right about the time I'm saying, "If you are late for five-thi-" They usually interrupt me with their variations on "FIVE-THIRTY".

I was raised by in a southern woman's household. I have been trained to proper manners, and I use them until such time as you prove unworthy of polite company.

I make that further digression to illuminate for you why I detest being spoken over or interrupted when attempting to answer a question. If you asked me the fucking question, then you can damn well wait for the complete fucking answer, digest the fullness of it, and then reply.

#5) Once I the late-ass not to interrupt and to have a seat, they, almost without fail, try to lay their emotional bullshit at my feet. Most make muttered claims that I'm a racist, an asshole, or whatever else comes to mind before turning to resume their seat. Some even manage to combine their claims, giving rise such pithy verbage as 'asshole racist' as they turn from me. The turn is usually accomplished with the downcast face and posture of a child kicking a rock. Some even accompany such behavior with a grunting little sigh, much like a child kicking a stone in disappointment.

I'll end the digression with this: For God's sake, if you are fucking late for your court date that you set, you can't wait, you can't listen, and you can't even be polite, then how the fuck can you expect anything more of those you come into contact with?

Now, where were we? Oh yes, the waiting, sighing, farting, yawning, stupid-question asking crowd has been added to repeatedly in the last half-hour by latecomers. Apart from the strange sound that accompanied his entrance, the person making noise in the vestibule is, while unwelcome, no great suprise.

Then the door opens.

In stalks a man with a limp. On his shoulder is a big fucking parrot. Not a little bird that might be missed in the ruck-and-run of the slow-as-molasses court. Oh no. This is a monster, with two foot pintails. A lot like this one:

'Shit,' I think, 'I missed the memo that tonight was Pirate night! I might get my card revoked by Plunderers International.'


Then the man suprises me again by taking a seat, quietly, without the usual approach-the-bailiff-with-my-bullshit. Perhaps he had none, only parrot ca-ca?

I spend the rest of the night trying to resist the urge to squint, bark out, "Argh!", "Where's me Booty!?" and, "Shiver me timbers!" at every turn.

I thought to say, 'Now I've seen it all' in this post, but I couldn't. I do think I might have seen much of it. Not all, but much.

Much more than I like, sometimes...Other times it's just too much to keep a straight face through.