THE DUI DIARY: Chapter Fifteen

Okay, today was a waste of time. There isn’t much to talk about here, but I’ll mention a few things.



When I got to court, I was surprised to find how few people were hanging around. Then, I realized that we were between Christmas and New Years. Of course there weren’t a lot of people in court. I’m surprised the place was open. Even the courtroom itself, which was usually crowded, only had a handful of people in it. It was so slow that the judge took a break at 9:30, which for him was an hour after he started.


But then, when he returned, I was the first one to be called, and my lawyers were not there yet. I approached the bench, restraining a smile because I now had a beard, and the judge would probably not remember me from last time.


“What is your name?” he asked, looking over my file.


Ah, good. His memory is short. The beard ruse has worked. “John Bruni, sir.”


“And your representation?”


I gave the name.


He read more from the file. “Oh, right. This was continued from last time because your attorney was late.” He eyed me from over the folder.


Shit. Well, at least he didn’t seem as angry as he had been last time. In fact, he had not raised his voice once in all the time I had been in the courtroom this morning.


“Call your attorney,” he said. “Then, have a seat, and we’ll get to you.”


He seemed more tired than angry, which I took as a decent sign. As I retreated out of the courtroom, I heard another attorney say, “Don’t worry. I saw Don earlier today. He’s in the building.”


Just to be sure, I went outside and called the office. The gentleman on the other line told me that he would notify one of the attorneys, and they would be with me shortly. Sure enough, about a half an hour later, Earl walked in, ready to do battle.


As soon as he’d entered, and the judge had seen him, my case was called to the bench. Earl said, “We’re here to file a motion to suppress, your honor.”


“Testimony or evidence?” Ferguson asked.


“Evidence regarding the roadblock stop,” Earl said.


“The roadblock coordinator isn’t here today,” the prosecutor said. I didn’t understand the significance of this until it was explained later. Since we were challenging the stop, we needed the coordinator there. It wasn’t enough that the arresting officer was in attendance.


“Okay, then,” the judge said. “I guess we need a new date, then. Are your papers in order?”


“Yes,” Earl said.


“Pardon?” the prosecutor asked.


“Your papers. Is your case ready?”


“Yes, your honor. Let me just find out from the officer when a good date is.”


Ferguson shook his head. “Bring him over here so we can all hear.”


The arresting officer approached, and he was asked where the coordinator was. “He’s on vacation, your honor.”


“When will he be back?”


“I’m not sure.”

“Then, when would be a good date for you?”


“Anytime except for January 19-22. I’ll be on vacation myself.”


The judge looked at his calendar. “And I’ll be on vacation the week after. How does February 19 sound?”


“That’s good for me,” the officer said.


Earl looked at me, and I nodded. We were then sent on our way.


I am slowly starting to realize that going to court is usually a matter of delaying things to another date. If things get delayed again, I will probably be able to drive myself to court again.


Outside, Earl said, “Okay, what just happened in there is good and bad. Well, two goods and one bad. It’s bad because you have to come back for another court date, which sucks. However, it’s good because we just faced this judge with a roadblock case two weeks ago, so it’s fresh in his mind and might affect his decision here. We want that far away and forgotten by the time we come back, just in case. It’s also good because I really, really want that appeal to come through first. It’s unlikely, but on the off chance that this actually happens, and we win it, it will have a small effect here. If we lose, it will have no effect, so don’t worry about that. But if we win on the appeal, while it won’t make this go away, it will have some small effect on the decision.”

“Okay,” I said. This gave me some hope, and a month and a half sounded like a good amount of time for an appellate court to catch up to me, especially this time of year, when the caseload is a bit lighter.


I paid up (so I now owe them the mere sum of $313), and we went on our way. As we drove home, my grandfather said to me, “I think I like this judge.”


“I don’t,” I said, remembering my last encounter with him.


“I noticed his cheeks were a little on the rosy side,” Gramps said. “That means he’s a drinker.”


QUICK NOTE: I found my first judge, Daniel Guerin, on Facebook. The temptation to friend him for nefarious purposes is nearly overwhelming.


TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!