I dropped off the other half of the blog, who is quite alive, at her office and headed to one of the suburban courts in the area, where I had scheduled three cases for pretrial hearings at 9:30. I try to do that to save on travel time and gas money.
I walked into the building, through the metal detector after emptying my pockets of everything I own, and into the crowded hallway outside the courtroom. I admit that I hadn't met two of the clients in person, having spoken over the phone at length with them; so, whether I recognized anyone standing around was not important. I called out the name on the top file of the three skinny folders I pulled from my leather courier bag. No response. Not unusual for that to happen. I was ten minutes late; clients are sometimes later. I called out the name on the second file. Again, no response. I checked my watch. 9:40 ... and it was not dark outside; so I was in the proper meridiem. That was okay. I could talk to the prosecutor about the cases and then touch base with the clients.
I called out the third name. No fucking response. What the hell was going on?
I looked at the file. On the line labeled "Hearings:" Pretrial 3/16 @ 9:30.
Fuck.
Posted by Bill at March 14, 2006 02:28 PMHey....now you can say you were early for something! ;)
Posted by: KathyHowe at March 15, 2006 04:41 PMStuffing the folders quickly back into the worn but expensive Louis Vitton briefcase, Bill, muttering loud enough for the small mean crowd to hear, laments the pisspoor morals of misdemeanor clients and strolls with a miffed attitude out the courthouse doors and into the bright morning sun.
Lawyers are known for their impromptu one-act performances, you know.
*grin*
Posted by: Cowtown Pattie at March 15, 2006 09:59 PMDid you march off muttering so that everyone could here .... something about unreliable clients or so forth?
Posted by: Michelle at March 18, 2006 03:38 PM