Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Kind of like Christmas' evil twin


The judge was a tough one, tough but fair, according to the courthouse scuttlebutt. I reckoned I needed to establish right off that I knew what was what. I had been brushing up on my Latin.

"Your Honor, ipso facto, if it please the court, I'm the defendant," I answered when my name was called.

His honor stared at me and I sat down. 

***

I get sued a lot.

It must be my winning personality coupled with my inability to pay all the bills I have. A certain hospital system in Springfield is suing me, annually. Getting sued once a year is like Christmas's evil twin.

I write a lot of articles about court cases, and I've read every John Grisham book at least twice, except for that one about the painted house. All my experience lumped together probably amounts to at least the equivalent of a night school law degree, so I'm representing myself this time around. 

I figure I'll somehow wind up in Witness Protection with millions in a Cayman Island bank account by the time it's all said and done. That's how most of the Grisham books end, unless somebody gets shot.

***

The other fella, the lawyer representing the hospital, started bad-mouthing me right away, whining to His Honor about how I had run up all these medical bills and never paid them.

"I object!" I hollered. "Your Honor, I would like everything that guy just said to be stricken from the record! This ain't nothing but a scandulum magnatum."

The judge seemed a little surprised. I reckoned he never figured he would have a near-expert amateur litigator to contend with. I hadn't spent the 90s watching Matlock five times a week for nothing.

"You know this isn't a trial, right?" he asked me. 

Well, that was true. It was a shame, too, because I had a great opening statement I had practiced all night. I couldn't wait to tell everybody they can't handle the truth. I sat down again.

"Now," His Honor said, shuffling some papers up there on the bench. "Mr. York, are you disputing that you owe this amount to the plaintiff?"

I stood up again. "Your Honor, before I answer that, at this time I would like to request a brief recess to confer with my client," I said.

The judge eyed me. "But you're representing yourself," he said.

"Well, that's so, but I think I should have the same right to a recess everybody else gets," I said reasonably. "You'll remember in Cagney versus Lacey, 1992, it was determined that — "

"Cagney versus Lacey? Now you're just making stuff up," the judge snapped.

Caught. I had figured citing nonexistent precedents would go unnoticed in just a hearing. "Well, maybe it was called something else," I mumbled. "Blame my loco parentis." I sat down.

"Loco something," the judge muttered. It gave me an idea.

"Your Honor," I said, standing up again. "I'm not sure my client is competent to stand trial. I'd like to request a full battery of psychiatric tests before we proceed."

"But you're representing yourself!" the judge said again, sounding a little impatient now.

"Correct, Your Honor," I said. "And if I am found to be mentally incompetent, my client will have grounds for appeal because of ineffective assistance of counsel."

"I'm pretty much ready to rule on that one right now," His Honor said. "Just answer yes or no, OK? Do you owe these guys this money? The truth, now."

He was asking for it. "You can't handle —"

"STOP!" His Honor thundered, glaring. "If I have to hear that one more time —"

"Your Honor, I feel I should take the Fifth at this point," I said. "And I'd like to get it on the record that I have not been properly Mirandized," I added.

"You can't take the Fifth. This isn't a criminal proceeding," the judge said.

"I disagree, Your Honor," I said. "If I had just walked into the hospital and taken as much money as I owe those guys, you'd have my habeas corpus in jail."

"Aha! So you do owe the money. Pay it," the judge ordered.

I was undone by all the legal trickery. I left the courtroom, my mind already racing with my strategy for the appeal.

***

All right, all right, this didn't really happen. Calm down.

Ken York is the assistant/Sunday editor of The Daily Record in Lebanon, Mo. 

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