First and foremost, those of you who have not had the pleasure of hanging out in your local courthouse need to know a few things:

(1) things are never as glamorous, or as clean, as they appear on tv court shows;
(2) courtroom proceedings are rarely, if ever, filled with well-dressed individuals who gasp collectively when the “real killer” is identified; and
(3) there is more DNA on the benches in the courtroom than there is in neat little packages sealed with red evidence tape at counsel’s tables. Now that I’ve burst your bubble, let me tell you some of the stuff that goes on around here on a typical day.
First, there was the finger-sucking incident. Witnessed by yours truly. I got on the elevator, which was already filled to capacity with the dregs of society. And yours truly. A nicely dressed woman got on after me. Her fingers were in her mouth. She popped one of them out of her mouth (with that finger-sucking sound that is not nearly as cute as it was when the person was, say, six months old?), and pressed the elevator button. Then, she put her fingers back in her mouth. Then, she realized she hadn’t pressed the button hard enough. So she noisily removed her fingers and pressed the button again. Now I don’t know what is more gross: the fact that she slobbered all over the elevator buttons or the fact that she touched the elevator buttons of a public building with her fingers and then PUT THEM BACK IN HER MOUTH.

Slurp.

Then there was the guy who um, had some stomach issues prior to arriving at our office. And while he was waiting to be seen, he had to run back to the bathroom. Except he didn’t make it. At that point, most folks would BOLT to the elevator or stairwell and get the hell home. Not him. He just made little poopy footprints all the way back to our receptionist and politely told her he would have to come back another time.

Yep. Squishy, poopy prints. Discuss.

Finally, yesterday, during a trial, the victim of a robbery was asked to point out the man that had robbed her. You know, they way they do on tv. And generally, you know, the defendant is seated next to his attorney at counsel’s table. So can you imagine the little guy sitting on the back row, waiting for a break in trial so he could approach the judge about a traffic ticket that he had failed to appear on, getting pointed out by the victim? Yeah. The guy in the baseball cap, sitting there, minding his own business, waiting to pay his fine and court costs, suddenly being identified by the victim as the guy who had robbed her? “Um, honey, I’m finished up with court, but I’m not going to be home for, um, five to ninety-nine.”

The real guy was later convicted.

The traffic ticket guy will never go over the speed limit again as long as he lives.

And you wonder why I’m effin’ nuts.

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