THE DUI DIARY: Chapter Twenty-Two

Today’s excursion into the legal process wasn’t very interesting, maybe because I didn’t really understand a lot of what was happening. People watching wasn’t very optimal, either, since Don had me wait outside the whole time. I got to see a few prisoners get sent back to lock-up, but that’s about it.



Once the two of us were outside, I asked him what we had planned for today. “We’re going to continue trying to impeach the arresting officer’s testimony. You’re going to see a lot of bullshit happen in this room today.”


That was less than reassuring. After a while, I went back inside, and things were so slow I started reading my book, John Shirley’s WETBONES. It’s a good book, but there are far too many typos to keep my mind in the story. The ending kind of lacks, too. But anyway, after a few cases got knocked out of the way, we started mine again.


I looked at the clock, surprised to find that it wasn’t even noon yet.


Standing beside Don, I watched him launch into an unbelievable tirade, which I understood very little of. I got the basics. We’re still going after the arresting officer, and he’s got other precedents to refer to, but the crux of his argument this time is that missing correspondence between the arresting officer and the dispatch office. Apparently, this correspondence has been destroyed, even though it was promised to Don and never delivered. The prosecutor tried breaking in several times, but the judge would have none of it. Things were starting to look up for my lawyer, and therefore myself.


But when they got down to the knock-down drag-out, nobody gave a shit about whose turn it was to talk. It was a free-for-all, and the judge didn’t bother to keep the peace. Don and the prosecutor were practically spitting in each others faces. I didn’t understand a word, but it looked fucking awesome. John Grisham could stand to learn a thing or two from these guys.


You might be wondering why I didn’t understand a lot of this argument. Well, the fault is probably with the medication I was on. My guts have been killing me for a long time, to the point of me puking blood. Not fun. The previous day I’d been in the ER, and they’d given me some kind of Super Maalox with some belly number in it. This did the fucking trick. Boy-howdy! The thing is, it made me drowsy as shit. Usually, I stand before the judge with my arms crossed in front of me, hands by my belt. This was too much trouble today. I had to balance myself on the wooden counter by the clerk. Much of my time was spent in this manner rather than paying attention.


Finally, the argument came to a close, and it struck me that Don had indeed won this bout. The judge spoke to him in deference. However, at the same time, he spoke kindly to the prosecutor, since he was giving him another chance to fuck me up. So, bad news there. But at the same time, the guy couldn’t do it the first time, so HA HA, and fuck you.


Of course, there will be a next time. From what I’ve been able to tell, this is part of a hearing, not a trial. So there might be quite some time before this thing is over. I’m sorely tempted to start printing this early, but who knows who might read this? Don’t want to contaminate anyone, now do I . . . .?


Come August, this thing goes on. Hopefully by then, I won’t have anymore problems with my guts. We shall see. Until then, RISE UP, BOOZEHEAD!


TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!