This post is going to be a rant.
Walking into the Lyndhurst courthouse early this morning to pay a traffic violation I had not the money for, I had no idea that I was walking into the future of our society. The Lyndhurst courthouse looks like every other small-town, Napoleon-complexesque courthouse I've every seen, and I've seen quite a few. It was about 8:24 a.m., and they had pretty much just opened for business. "Great", I figured. "I'll be able to get this done quite handily, and possibly make it to my stupid job downtown in a timely fashion". WROOOOONNNNNNNNNNGGGG!
The first couple of times I was forced to enter this bastion of American law I had no problem walking right up to the window, paying whatever fine I had incurred, and going about the rest of my day to stew about the fine and curse the system. I expected nothing less than being able to do just that following this particular visit. Turning the corner I realized I was wrong.
Airport security metal detectors leading upstairs to the courtroom, guarded by the oldest cops they possibly could have propped up. I noticed an old couple standing under the sill of the hallway near the entrance, that leads to some hellhole of an administrative office. The cops informed me that they were not quite open yet, and to get in line behind the old people. Fair enough. Lines happen. So I got in.
They called in the wife first, and the old man followed like the devoted spouse he is. He was brusquely rebuffed and told to wait his turn, despite his statement that he was with her. He came back in line and I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him. "Buncha royal assholes here", he said. Of course I laughed mostly because he was elderly, but also because I tended to agree.
After he had made it through I was called up with the entirety of my pockets in my hands after overhearing the necessity of this. Cop one passed the airport-style bin of my mediocre belongings to cop two behind the metal detector. As I passed through flawlessly, cop two rifled through my belongings. I realized that I had left in my pocket a Jim Dunlop guitar capo, which has sharp, spiky edges on it. Cop two picked it up, looked at it, and muttered "what the hell is this?" Hindsight being 20/20, I later thought it would be hilarious if I were to have replied, "obviously you're not an assassin". Realistically, I'm not that clever in the moment, and I muttered "it's for a guitar". Satisfied with that answer, he gave me directions regarding where to go, and sent me up the stairs. CLEARANCE!
Upstairs, I proceeded straight to the window to pay my confounded fine. Some nasty woman who apparently considered her face a canvas and rouge the paint, told me to go check in at the courtroom. I told her I was just trying to pay my fine, and she annoyed pointed in the direction of the House of All Relevance. Stumbling dumbfoundedly into the Hall of Justice, I wondered why there were already so many defendants sitting around when, according to old cop 1, they had not yet opened. Some suit asked me what I was there for, and I related my situation that I was just trying to pay my ticket and leave, but that the Rouge Princess had sent me into the Punishment Chamber. He passed me on to another suit who asked for my name, and then asked me again why I was there. Suit 2 insisted that if I had to come into the courtroom, my ticket must not be waiverable. I insisted back that it was, in fact waiverable, but that the Rouge Princess had refused to serve me (contrary to her label as a public servant) and sent me into his affectionate grasp. I locked eyes with a dude roughly my age who rolled his eyes and smiled, to which I did the same. Suit 2 found my "case", looked it over, and said again "uhh, it must not be waiverable". I again insisted that it was, and he told me to return to the window and try to pay it again. Should I be shot down by the Rouge Princess once more, I should return to the House of Flying Justice Daggers.
Returning to the payment window, I was EXTREMELY ANNOYED to find that a man and his family were there paying a fine without any trouble, especially since selfish old Ray was without question in attendance first. I sat down and waited for this man, wife, and child to finish their business so I could finish mine. Observing these folks uninterestedly, I realized that more than a few people were making something of a stink over the father. Of course, being the crass bastard I am I thought to myself, "what the fuck, who the fuck is this guy". I overheard a guy I will refer to as old cop 3 asking the man at the window if he would sign an autograph for "the girls in back", Jenny, Millie, or whoeverthefuck. At this point, I was really getting annoyed. I thought old cop 3 was just being cute when asking for an "autograph" on some legal admission of guilt or something of that nature. Then a few lawyers and a couple more cops came out and began to fawn on this relatively average looking man.
I think old cop 3 realized that I was getting irritated by the whole situation. He came up to me and asked, "Are you a Cleveland Indians fan?". I was wearing a fucking Tribe hat. I felt like replying, "obviously, you're not". But, being the standoffishly courteous nothing I am, I replied with a mumbled "yeah". He looked at me and went, "that's Rafael Betancourt". "Oh, ok", I replied. Betancourt in court. How precious. Apparently, Raffy is a resident of Lyndhurst and was trying to pay a traffic violation too. I thought it quite unprofessional of the half of the upstairs staff of the 'Hurst courthouse to ask the poor bastard for numerous autographs as he was trying, just like me, to get in and out as quick as possible. Also, Raffy is apparently a much nicer guy than me. I don't know about you, but if I were in a similar situation, being asked for autographs by a bunch of people who just cost me a bunch of money, my answer would be "Absolutely not. Please maintain a professional air."
As I paid for my ticket, I listened to the cops and lawyers joking with Raffy about his ticket, apparently received for trying to get his young son to school on time. One of the cops said to him, "who wrote you that ticket? [Whatever the cop's name was]? Hah! He'd write his own grandmother a ticket!", implying that good ole Raffy should have received some special treatment. Typical law enforcement mindset, typically annoying. I really felt for Mr. Betancourt in this situation, being a semi-popular figure in the area just trying to remain anonymous like the rest of us. I paid my ticket and trundled stormily away, with the inane banter of the cops and lawyers directed at Raffy fading in the distance. A friend of mine later asked me if I got his autograph. "Hell no", I said. "The man had already endured enough annoyance for one day".
At least I was only 20 minutes late for work.
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