I am in court today, as a parent, being supportive of the J-dogg in his legal bout that arises from his pre-treatment adventures. A friend of mine is representing him; so, I'm along for the ride, waiting like all the other civilians. While I'm sitting her on the church-pew-like wooden bench along the wall of the hallway outside the courtroom knowing that I'll be waiting a while, I figured I'd pass the time by writing about what's going on here, besides with the dark-haired guy sitting next to me who has been complaining that he has been sitting here since 1. A back-hand snap punch might be in order if he doesn't stop.
He doesn't have a lawyer because lawyers are worthless, or so he says. He is now telling the guy sitting on the other side of him that he wants to leave town, join the Navy, but the judge is stopping him from doing that. I wish he would have to take a leak and leave.
Some kid -- a lawyer -- just came out of the magic door, behind which lawyers work their deals and tell their off-color jokes and purvey the latest gossip. And I say "kid" because he looks to be all of 14 years old; and he's now talking to his client, who looks to be over twice his lawyer's age and who seems to have more experience with the law, insofar as search-and-seizure law is concerned, than his teenaged lawyer -- his lawyer is nodding his head and writing things down.
How can he have any confidence in this teenager?
And now, through the magic door comes another lawyer, who looks like the guy who just won American Idol, except not as gray and except that he's wearing a nasty-looking tan suit. It's not the kind of suit Atticus Finch would have worn, but something that looks like polyester. With a bad tie, a silvery-green-striped bad tie.
He walks by me and sits down next to an attractive curly, strawberry-blonde-haired woman, much younger than he is, wearing a black knee-length skirt and a tank top made out of the same material as his tie, but she carries it off so much better than he tries. He's sitting next to her, and I can see the fingers of his right hand moving lightly across her thigh, just above the knee of her left leg that is crossed over her right. He is leaning into her, speaking in a low voice.
It doesn't look like the usual male-attorney-female-client encounter; and the lawyer should consider himself fortunate that the state bar has not yet adopted the Model Rules of Conduct, which prohibit *ahem* intimate contact between lawyer and client.
He's getting off the bench -- and J-dogg's lawyer is calling. I look back and damned if that American-Idol-looking lawyer has his back to me and is hunched a little -- I can't see if he is erect or not.
Back to the business at hand.
Posted by Bill at May 25, 2006 10:20 PM