It was all very innocent. (I know, I
know... that’s what they ALL say!) But really. I mean it!
I had a date in small claims court. I was attempting to collect
a debt relating to a rather large check that had bounced. The
day dawned bright and sunny, and I drove to town with my
evidence in hand-- relaxed, calm and prepared for victory. I’d
never filed a small claims suit before, but what did I have to
worry about? I was in the right!
The first thing that surprised me that
morning was the number of people waiting outside the court room.
I thought MY appointment was for 9:00 a.m. I thought there would
be only a judge, the defendants and myself in the room. But
apparently everyone else in the county who had a beef was
sharing in my appointed hour. At nine o’clock on the dot, the
doors were opened, and we, the huddled masses, filed through the
doorway. I was one of the first to enter. Big mistake. There
wasn’t space enough on the benches for so many people, and the
bailiff kept directing us all to “move down” and make room. I
ended up wedged in between a grim looking man on one side, and
seven other strangers between me and the aisle.
I tried to make light of our
discomfort. I smiled at Grumpy on my left whose elbow was
rubbing against mine and said, “Well, this is one way to make
friends!” He grunted. Rebuffed, I had a brief moment of pique as
I thought snidely, “He must be a defendant!” I grinned at the
more approachable looking gentleman on my right. “This would be
a heck of a place to be if you were someone who was
claustrophobic!” But if the fellow responded I didn’t hear him,
for at that moment I had a grave revelation. I AM
CLAUSTROPHOBIC!
Well, that was just great. I broke out
in a sweat and mentally berated myself for being silly. So what
if I was hemmed in on all sides by total strangers! What was the
big deal if I was about as far from the door and freedom as I
could get? I concentrated on the sunny view out the window to my
left, right beyond Grumpy’s eyebrows. Afraid he’d think I was
staring at him, I tried another tentative smile. “It’s too bad
we’re stuck in here on such a beautiful day, isn’t it?” He
grunted again, and my smiling lips drooped. Why did I feel it
necessary to make small talk with a stranger? And why, if I hate
the feeling of being trapped in enclosed spaces, was I talking
about being STUCK INSIDE? I don’t know what it was that
propelled me to try to create a comfortable atmosphere for
myself and those strangers who were INVADING MY PERSONAL SPACE,
but there you have it.
Soon after, the judge entered the court
room, and we all rose. My skirt stuck to my butt since I’d been
sweating profusely, and I hastily rearranged myself. I tossed a
mental apology over my shoulder to the people behind me, and
then we were allowed to sit again. The magistrate began to
explain the procedural aspects of the morning. I got a tickle in
my throat. I’d had a cold and was still battling post-nasal
drip, and so I had come to court prepared! I didn’t want to
disrupt the court with a coughing fit, especially since there
were dozens of people squeezed together cheek to cheek whom I
could irritate if that happened. And so, I bent forward and
plucked from my pocketbook the bottle of water I had purchased
that morning. I cleared my throat and took a long drink, washing
the tickle away. As I screwed the cap back in place, I was
startled by a stern and commanding voice. The bailiff stood at
the end of my row and pointed a finger at me. “No liquids of any
kind are allowed in the courtroom! You’ll have to take it out!”
Nine dozen pairs of eyes looked in my direction and I could feel
new heat steal into my face. I was turning into a veritable
sprinkler system. I made a weak attempt to pass my bottle to the
bailiff, but that austere figure merely stepped back and
indicated that I should leave.
Mind you, I was packed like a sardine.
I picked up my bag and my file folder, kept a death grip on the
incriminating bottle of Aquafina, and stumbled my way over seven
good people. I practically sat on one man’s lap, and bumped the
fellow in the row ahead as I tried to avoid that catastrophe. I
finally gained the aisle and hurried to the courtroom door. Once
in the lobby, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t very well put
the bottle on the floor, so I found a bathroom, dumped the
water, and threw the bottle (5 cent refund! Would I get in
trouble for that?) in the trash. I went back to the door of the
courtroom and leaned next to it. Was I allowed back inside? Did
I have the nerve to walk in and test my luck? Would I recover
from the humiliation? It wouldn’t have been so bad if the room
had held only strangers. But I’d recognized an attorney that I
knew quite well, three friends from Kingfield and an
acquaintance from New Portland all waiting their turns, so I was
not entirely “incognito.” The decision was wrested from me by
someone whom I assume to be an official “keeper of the door”. He
stuck his head out and asked me if I wanted to return.
Naturally, my former seat was no longer
available to me. The other folks on the bench had spread
themselves out and pointedly avoided my gaze. That was fine with
me, since I didn’t think I could make myself climb back over
them a second time. There was standing room only, and so I was
stuck where I was, in the front of the courtroom against the
rail separating me from the judge, my friend the bailiff, and a
stray lawyer or two. By the time my case was called, I had
regained a small fraction of my composure. I stepped up to the
opening between the waiting crowd and the court officials. The
judge read the complaint and asked me if the amount listed was
correct.
“Yes, that’s correct, sir,” I
responded.
“ ‘Your honor,’ ” a whispered voice
from behind me set me straight. Again, my temperature went up as
my face flushed and I waited for the bailiff to descend upon me.
But the judge never batted an eyelash at my lack of courtroom
decorum. He looked at me with a pleasant expression and claimed
me to be the victor, since the defendants had not appeared and
had lost by default.
“Thank you, sir,” I said in response,
and then stuttered as I tried to remember to say “Your Honor”
instead.
Never had the clean, cool air of a June
morning felt so wonderful! I was astounded to realize that only
twenty minutes had passed since I had gone into the court room.
It had seemed like hours! Perhaps that’s what they mean by “hard
time?” I had entered the building a calm, serene woman; and had
exited the same edifice a nervous wreck.
“But,” I thought, “I won my case!” I
wiped my sweating brow.
Ah, the flush of victory! I’m sure
that’s what it was.
