Look out, Your Honor!

I pull into the county courthouse parking lot a half hour early. I’ve had Ice Cube’s It Was a Good Day on repeat the entire drive, because it’s a good day. I have jury duty.

If I were on trial, I probably would have played I Fought the Law the whole way. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, blare that song while I pull up to court. I know it’s cliche. Sue me (then I can do it forreal).

I slip my sunglasses off. They don’t match first of all, and B) I saw that episode of the Simpsons where Homer gets in trouble for wearing glasses in court. His had fake eyes so he could doze instead of paying attention. Wait, I should have thought of that. Nevermind. I’m not gonna need ‘em. I’m gonna be riveted, I just know it.

I’ve been told to dress in a “manner respectful of the court” so I decided to wear the best outfit I have. I bought it as a costume for a Christmas party four years ago. It’s the same getup Cousin Eddie wears in that one scene in Christmas Vacation. Kelly green pants, a thin white sweater that’s a size too small, a black turtleneck dickie. I even have the shoes, plastic white squaretoe jobbies with big gold buckles. It can’t get anymore respectful.

I wait in line to get my juror nametag. “Fk around and got a triple-double,” I mutter as I step up to the counter. These are the only lyrics I can remember from It was a Good Day; aside from the part about getting a beep from Kim. I don’t want to say those though, in case anyone in the courthouse is named Kim.

“I’m sorry?” the cheerful little clerk says. She’s a plump grandmotherly woman. She has no business listening to Ice Cube. “Was that Ice Cube?” she presses. “I love that song.” She proceeds to recite the next few bars.

“Damn.” I squint at her nametag. “Linda. You go girl.”

She gives a slight bow, flashing a pretty sweet Rolex. “What’s your juror number?”

“Lucky one oh nine bay-bee! Like the cleaning stuff.”

Linda shakes her head. “You’re thinking of formula 409.”

“Linda, please, I’m pretty sure it’s 109.”

Linda produces a bottle of 409.

I wag my finger at her. “Linda, Linda. Nothing gets by you. That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

She beams and slides my nametag across the counter. “That way and to your right. The metal detectors.”

“Linda, you’re the best.”

I walk over to where she indicated. There is a big sign with huge red circle with line through it superimposed over a phone. NO CELLPHONES OR LAPTOPS BEYOND THIS POINT. I expected this but it still sucks. The courthouse is a Pokemon Go gym and I need the coins.

“Just a second,” I say to the security guard. “Gotta take over the court for team Valor.”

“Hell no,” he says. “Team Instinct.” Ugh. Whatever. I finish knocking out his full level Slaking before sticking my highest rated Blissey in the gym. Take that, sucker.

“Cellphone please,” he says smugly. I know he’s going to immediately reclaim the gym. God what a jerk.

There’s only one way to deal with a guy like him. “If it rings? It’s Michelle Branch. Tell her I’m busy performing my sacred duty to the law.”

“Who is Michelle Branch?” he scoffs.

I can’t believe this. This is the guy who should be on trial. “Michelle Branch. Everywhere. The Game of Love with Santana. Come on. All You Wanted. I know you know that one.”

“Ah yeah. How’s that go?”

I sing a few lines of the chorus for him.

“Yeah, yeah, right, that’s a good song. You could use some singing lessons though.”

I consider asking him for his badge number. Nah, it’s a good day. I’m not going to go Karen mode. I smile and move on through the line. He gives me a claim ticket for later.

I make my way to the jury box. Front row baby. I take my seat and wish I had my phone so I could browse the great articles on Wikipedia dot org. Oh well. Within minutes I’m surrounded by my peers.

“All rise for the Honorable Kris King,” the bailiff announces. The judge is a thin man with a thinner swoop of salt and pepper hair. He wears little glasses that he peers at us through before banging his gavel and inviting us to sit.

The plaintiff is Tom and Nancy McNeese, a WASPy couple in their sixties. Because they are well-to-do they have time to be healthy and could be ten years younger for all I know but I assume not. They’re represented by Kim Williamson, Esq., who looks almost exactly like Ally McBeal with darker hair.

The defendant is Scott Wojoseki, a tall drink of water who looks like the sexy cowboy dude from Lost. Sawyer or whatever. I can tell he’s innocent because he looks like Scott who works at Pizza7, the guy who always gives me a free soda when I buy two slices. He looks a lot like that Scott. He even has the teardrop face tattoo.

Oh god. What if it’s the same Scott? I had to affirm I didn’t know either party and I assumed it was some other Scott Wojoseki. Alright. Alright. We’ll play it cool. I don’t really know him all that well anyway.

He’s being accused of breaking and entering, criminal trespass, and burglary of the McNeeses’s home. I’ve seen how much dough moves through Pizza7. Scott would never.

I slam my hands on the railing. “I want the TRUTH!” I yell doing my best Tom Cruise.

Judge King pounds his gavel. “Mr. Watson, one more outburst like that and I’ll have the bailiff escort you directly to the holding facility. Am I clear? You are to remain silent as a juror.”

I don’t realize how lucky I am to not be held in contempt, and how unlucky I am that the judge knows my name.

“Geez, what’s his problem?” I mumble to the woman next to me. She’s a severe looking woman named Dorthea with a sweet red hat. She has a really cool peacock brooch pinned to her violet jacket. She just glares at me. Fine.

We have to sit through several boring hours of evidence. There’s video of Scott entering the McNeese home. Him leaving with a cartoonish bag filled with stuff. Kim makes us listen to a forensics expert explain they found fibers that match his denim vest, that blood they found on the shards from the window he broke matches his. She wants us to believe Scott is guilty. I’m not convinced in the slightest.

“That’s enough for today. I have to go pl…I have to contemplate what we’ve heard here,” Judge King says suddenly, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Hey, how come he gets a phone?” I whisper to Dorthea.

“He’s the judge,” she says flatly, as if that explains everything.

King pounds his gavel and we’re dismissed.

---

In the parking lot, I run into Kim.

“Sup, Kim?” I say waving at her. She’s one of my many weaknesses: a spiky heeled brunette in a position of authority.

She lowers her shades. “Ah, Juror number 109. i don’t believe we’re on a first name basis,” she says icily.

She stares at me like an angry viper. She’s very pretty. “Sorry. Miss Williamson. Good lawyering today,” I muse while working up the courage to ask, “Say, you wanna go get a bite? There’s an IHOP a few blocks from here that makes-“

“Do you have any idea how inappropriate this is?”

“Women are always saying that to me,” I mutter under my breath.

“Excuse me?”

I rally. “Yeah, they make these blueberry waffles that are so good. I know, it’s the IHOP, not the Waffle House, so you’d think their waffles would be inferior but, trust me.”

She stares at me for a second and I can tell she’s tempted. She’s cool though so she plays it cool. “We could have finished today if you hadn’t rudely sighed every fifteen seconds.”

“What?” I draw myself up, mildly offended. “I only sighed one time. Every other time it was Earl. He has undiagnosed COPD you know.” She stares. “He can’t help it.” She’s got a great poker face. “I told him to get it checked out.”

I see Judge King exit the courtroom behind her. He’s wearing a Boston Celtics sweat band on his head and carrying a squash racquet. I should see if he wants to teach me how to play. No, I gotta focus.

“It was you,” Kim says finally.

“Nuh-uh. Look,” I open my mouth so she can see that I am incapable of multiple sighs.

“Yes, it’s a lovely mouth, please close it.” She opens her car door. “Goodbye, 109. Don’t screw up tomorrow.”

She slams the door shut and I watch as her cherry red Porsch screeches out of the lot. Her license plate reads NOQDPRQO. God she’s so cool.

“The defense motions for a mistrial,” Llewellyn Stanley says smugly. Scott is cool but his lawyer is an absolute tool.

“You can’t be serious,” Kim says.

“She tampered with the jury,” Stanley replies. “I have evidence to prove it.” He holds up his iPhone. It’s showing a picture of Kim and me hanging around her car.

“Hang on, I can explain,” Kim says.

I nudge Dorthea. “She’s into me.”

Dorthea frowns and shakes her head. “Child, she most definitely is not.”

“There’s more,” Stanley says. He hits play on his phone.

“It’s a lovely mouth,” Kim says from the recording.

“Clearly, the plaintiff’s counsel is trying to influence the verdict by flirting with Juror 109.”

Kim looks at me. “That’s not the whole situation. 109, tell the court what really happened.”

Everyone looks at me. “Objection!” I shout. “That’s not my real name.”

Kim rolls her eyes. “Mister Watson, tell the court what really happened.”

I nudge Dorthea again. “See? She knows my name.”

“It’s on your nametag,” Kim says dangerously.

I stand up. “You know what? I plead the fifth. I’m not the one on trial here!” I shoot finger guns at the judge. It was a pretty great comeback, after all, there’s no way he can deny it.

“Mister Watson, my chambers, NOW,” he growls, crooking his finger at me. Dorthea has no inclination of moving for me, so I hop over the railing and follow King.

He sits behind a wide mahogany desk glaring at me. I don’t understand what he’s so bent out of shape about. “Close the door.”

I do so and sit. He smiles. “That was a pretty great comeback out there.”

“Right?”

He nods. “Good work.”

I sober. “Is Ki-er-Miss Williamson going to be in trouble?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I do have to dismiss the case, unfortunately.”

“Whew,” I say, relaxing. “I was going to be pretty bummed if she got in trouble. There’s no way she’d go get waffles with me if I got her in trouble.”

“Son,” King says, leaning forward. “There is absolutely no way she’s ever going to get waffles with you.”

I’m crestfallen. “Oh.”

King takes sympathy on me. “Tell you what. We’ll make a big scene. I know that will make you feel better. Storm out of here.”

This lifts my spirits. I know exactly what to say.

“No,” King says. He can read my mind. Of course he can. He’s a judge. “Don’t do ‘you can’t handle the truth’.” He sees me select my backup plan. “Or ‘i’m out of order? No, you’re out of order!’ Those are cliches.” He does a pretty good Pacino impression. “Think of something better.”

It takes only a moment, but I have it. “One more thing?” I ask. He gestures and I write a note, fold it, and slide it across his desk.

He reads it, quirks an eyebrow, and nods. “This’ll play.”

I nod along with him. “So, Celtics fan?”

He freezes. I feel bad for embarrassing him. I wasn’t trying to. “My grandkids got it for me because I like the color green.”

“You’re a good man, Judge.”

He nods again. “Alright, let’s get this moving. I have…an appointment.” He smiles conspiratorially. I think about asking him if I can come but I don’t want to push it.

I fling open his door.

“No! It’s a trick question!” I scream at him. He stares blankly back. I urge him to do his part and he gives me a tiny headshake. He doesn’t know it. And I was beginning to think he was cool. I roll my eyes and soldier on.

“’Cause Chevy didn’t make a 327 in ’55. The 327 didn’t come out til ’62. And it wasn’t offered in the Bellaire with the 4-barrel carburetor til ’64. However, in 1964 the correct ignition timing would be 4 degrees before top dead center.”

He spreads his hands.

Seriously? Who doesn’t know My Cousin Vinny?!

He regains composure. “That’s it!” He shouts. “I’m sentencing you to five years! No parole! Get out of my chambers!” He pounds his desk and winks at me.

I gesture at the paper. He’d almost forgot. He grabs a big volume of the Code of Laws and chucks it at me. “I’m throwing the book at you Watson! You’re finished.”

God, what a great Judge.

Kim is waiting for me in the parking lot.

“You!” She holds her hands up to my neck like she’s going to strangle me. She resists before she actually touches me.

“Kim,” I say morosely. “I don’t think this is gonna work. I dunno if you heard, but Judge King just sentenced me to five years without parole.” I flash him a secret thumbs up as he slips onto his Beemer, no doubt heading for the YMCA.

“Then why are they letting you leave?”

I scoff. “Because I’m trustworthy. A fact you can’t seem to remember,” I say sulkily.

“Oh my god. I’m going to destroy you.”

I gasp. “That’s a very mean thing to say.”

“I was going to make partner after this!”

I shake my head. “Wow. Partner for making an innocent man go to jail. How noble.”

Kim recoils like I slapped her. “Innocent! We have a mountain of evidence!”

I hold up a finger. “No. The McNeeses are good people. They have a reputation. Scott’s a good guy. He’s just taking the fall to keep them from soiling their good name.”

She blinks, “That doesn’t—“

She’s interrupted by Scott. “Hey, thanks, man, you really saved me in there.”

Kim’s eyes dart between us. “Wait. Do you two know each other?” Kim lights up with glee. “Do you have any idea how illegal this is?”

“Hey, lady, this guy’s a hero,” Scott slaps my back. What a guy.

A beat up toyota truck squeaks to a stop behind is. An illuminated Pizza7 sign is on its roof. “I have a pizza for, uh, Earl?” Scott says, screwing his face up as he reads the receipt. “That any of you?”

Kim is dumbfounded. “You could be twins,” she breathes.

Defendant Scott and Pizza Scott look at each other. In exactly the same voice, they say, “we look nothing alike.”

I’m unbelievably relieved I haven’t committed perjury. “Earl’s inside, Scott.” My friend the pizza man nods and enters the courtroom.

“So Kim, I mean, Miss Williamson, I was thinking—“ I turn to face her but her Porsche is leaving the parking lot.

“She’s so into you, dude,” Scott says. “Well. See ya later.”

We shake hands.

I’m sitting in IHOP enjoying some chocolate chip waffles. It’s been amazing being a part of the legal process. Everything has been exactly as I dreamed.

These waffles are courtesy of the $144 dollar stipend I earned for my service. What a great country we live in.

I keep looking up whenever I hear the door opening. Kim’s gonna show up any minute now and apologize for threatening to destroy me. I know she’s not mean. Just passionate.

My phone rings. I smile. I answer it.

“Michelle! Yeah, you’re never gonna believe this….”