29
Jul
10

see…if you’d gone to law school, you’d know that *the law* doesn’t matter…

I spend a lot of time in law libraries.

Not doing the law.

Generally, dicking around on facebook or twitter.

But, not yesterday.

Yesterday, I was in professional mode. I was doing some last minute research on an opposition to a motion docketed for 10:00 am that would most assuredly get me laughed out of court. That’s how bullshit it was.

As I’m not so much a fan of being laughed at (with, certainly; at, not at all), I was in full on meangirlmode, and was diligently trolling Westlaw looking for that eleventh hour “Aha!”

Which is why I didn’t pay any mind when the law librarian approached me with a clipboard, requesting that I sign in. Granted, I’d never signed in at a law library, before, or at any library for that matter.  This particular law library is manned by a rather peculiar woman, however, so, I tossed the newest element of her increasingly regimented system of management into the lot with the rest, and went about my research.

Fifteen minutes into my stay, a ruddy-cheeked handyman entered, and made inquires about “further security.” I was beginning to get annoyed by the constant stream of distractions, but persisted. I was certain my irritation was registering on my face.

“No sightings of your derelict guest, yet, huh?” he asked the librarian.

I exhaled deeply. Finally getting it, the two took their conversation into her office.

I let myself relax, resigning myself to the humiliation that was forthcoming. I had settled on one final search term when I caught whiff of something God-awful.

The woman’s odor preceded her entry into the library.

Like, imagine the most horrible smell in the world. Like, chitlins and sour milk and rotten eggs and day old sunbaked cod and pickle juice and tartar buildup on unbrushed teeth and like—booty. ALLA that.

Strutting in, proud as you please, the rail-thin black woman was about 27 or 28, wearing green highwater pants, an oversized tee shirt, and carried a rather large bag. Like, the size of a bag in which one might house all of one’s worldly possessions.

She sat at the carrel directly across from me, and seemed not to notice the “Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath.

I continued typing.

Not two minutes after the woman had sat down, Deputy Rodriguez, who I’ve never seen beyond his post on the first floor of the courthouse, approached her.

“Ma’am, you have to leave,” he said.

Sitting upright, her spine straighter than ever, the woman answered in a high-pitched voice, “I don’t have to leave anything.”

I kept typing. “Here we go,” I said to no one in particular.

Deputy Rodriguez, in a tone that seemingly brooked no refusal, administered his directive once more: “Ma’am, you have to leave. You’ve been banned from the library.”

“You can’t ban me from anything! You can’t ban me from anything! I’m checking my email!” She yelled.

“Really, email? She doesn’t even have a house,” I noted, aloud.

Rodriguez ignored me. “Well, ma’am, perhaps that’s why you were banned. You’re not allowed to use email, here. This is a law library. Now, you’ve been banned. Let’s go.”

She was not to be deterred. “I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!!!!”

I tried to block out the increasingly heated exchange, as time was drawing nigh. “Why does this shit always happen to me?” I wondered aloud.

But, Rodriguez was already assuming his cop-stance, and the woman was at the height of her emotive tantrum,  so no one was paying me any mind.

“I am a resident of the City of _________—“

“Bet that bitch don’t pay taxessss,” I sang under my breath.

“And I have a constitutionally protected right to come into this library!!”

“That right don’t exist at all—“ I rejoined in a whisper.

“SO YOU CAN’T BAN ME FROM ANYTHING.”

Rodriguez exhaled. He was reaching breaking point. “Ma’am, I’m not banning you from anything. The librarian banned you. So you need to either get up and leave, peacefully, or I’m going to remove you.”

The woman was undaunted. Her volume grew. Her voice sounded like nails screeching across a chalkboard. Only they weren’t nails. They were talons. And the talons belonged to canaries. Canaries who were screaming as their talons were being raked across the chalkboard. And then someone threw the canaries into a cage with a cat. And the canaries screamed until the cat ate them. And then the cat raked his claws across the chalkboard.

“According the City Code, Section 8, Part 1, ‘Any citizen or resident may make use of the city’s public venues, and in so doing has the right to peacefully enjoy the premises.’ I am peacefully enjoying the premises!!!”

“This shit isn’t peaceful at all,” I mumbled.

“Ma’am am I going to have to have you removed or not?” Rodriguez’s volume was now matching hers.

“Dude, why are you even asking at this point?” I asked my keyboard.

“SO NOW YOU’RE THREATENING TO REMOVE ME BY FORCE? ARE YOU THREATENING AN ACT OF VIOLENCE ON MY PERSON, SIR? ARE YOU THREATENING AN ACT OF VIOLENCE?? DOES EVERYBODY HEAR THIS? DOES EVERYBODY HEAR THAT HE IS THREATENING AN ACT OF VIOLENCE ON MY PERSON!!!! DOES EVERYBODY SEE THIS?”

I looked around. The librarian was in her office. The remaining space was occupied by only us three.

I highlighted a section of my printed out argument. Cap in mouth, I continued to mark through the paperwork. “I didn’t see anything.”

Rodriguez clicked on his shoulder unit and reached the security main frame. “This is Rodriguez. I’m at Station 4. We’re gonna have to remove one.”

“About damned time,” I answered, still highlighting.

“Ms. Fooler—“ Rodriguez began.

“Just sayin’,” I shrugged before resuming my work.

“YOU AREN’T GOING TO REMOVE ANYTHING!!!!! THREE OFFICERS WERE FOUND GUILTY OF ASSAULT AND BATTERY IN CONVIRS VS. MARYLAND WHEN THEY FORCEFULLY REMOVED AN UNARMED CITIZEN FROM A PLACE WHERE HE LAWFULLY GATHERED WITH OTHER CITIZENS!!!! YOU CAN’T REMOVE ME!”

“Mmm. That’d be great I bet, if this weren’t Virginia,” I offered, again, to my keyboard.

I felt Rodriguez’s eyes on me. “Keep it up.”

“Just sayin’,” I answered.

It took another minute or so before two female deputies descended.

Now, let me tell you this.

I am not a woman easily impressed by anything.

And very little surprises me.

But man, if you coulda seen the scissor kicks on that bitch when those deputies lifted her up out of that chair. Like, she had such precision. Her toes were pointed and she had full leg extension as she fitfully jerked within their collective grasp.

Like, when she gets done being homeless, or out of whatever holding cell they currently have her all locked in right now, she ought to look into being a gymnast or a ballerina or something. I gotta believe that the ability to affect such litheness in movement, particularly when one is struggling against a chokehold, is a rare quality indeed.

Either that, or a career in law.

Cause she was convicted as bitch when she was saying all of that wrong and completely inapplicable and entirely without precedent caselaw.

I thought of that stankyassed woman, whose chitlin and old foot-infused clothes had pathetically strained against her body as she valiantly fought off those deputies—

I thought about the strength of her convictions, the timbre of her voice, the deftness of her scissorkick—

All of these things, I considered, when I approached the court to argue my own outlandish Answer.

I straightened my posture. I referenced persuasive authority. And I debated my points as vehemently as my determined, homeless predecessor.

And you know what—

I lost.

And I looked ridiculous.

Just like that other bitch.

I like to think that we both learned a valuable lesson, yesterday.

Granted, she learned hers in the clink, but that doesn’t mitigate the merit of the teaching.

Simply put, it doesn’t pay to be righteously indignant about some stupid shit.

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7 Responses to “see…if you’d gone to law school, you’d know that *the law* doesn’t matter…”


  1. 1 Jet Black
    July 29, 2010 at 9:25 pm

    Come on now: are you making this up?!?!?!

    Thanks for posting later in the day:-)

  2. 2 DOCLOVE
    July 29, 2010 at 11:24 pm

    better…I LedOL on this one.

  3. 3 BarristerBelle
    July 30, 2010 at 4:23 pm

    And that, my dear Fooler, was exactly what I needed to start my weekend on the right foot.

  4. August 1, 2010 at 1:59 pm

    Your steely description and lack of empathy had shades of A Modest Proposal. I thought that you might have an actual disdain for the homeless. Gangster bourgeoisie.

    • August 1, 2010 at 2:05 pm

      LOL. i dont have a disdain for the homeless. i have a disdain for people who have been kicked out of a place 4 times for the same thing, who want to assert rights that don’t exist on the day that i’m trying to work (a rare day, indeed), whilst i’m in the glass case/cage of emotion ( (c.) will ferrell). i’m not saying the bitch should eat her babies and whatnot. though i’m sure she’d submit that she has a constitutionally protected right to do so.

      really?

      jonathan swift at 10:00 am on a sunday?

      really?


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