Fashion Court

“The court orders you to pay a fine of $250,000 dollars. Case dismissed.” Those were the words of the judge. He was very old and could barely pick up the gavel. He spoke with a lisp and his voice fluctuated up in down in waves of emotion. It was bizarre to see a judge so old have these mannerisms.

I was hoping to have my case called next, just to get it over with, but the judge called on a different case. The man being charged with disorderly conduct was in session. The man, standing there in front of the judge was wearing jeans, work boots and a polo shirt. He was younger than me but had facial hair that made him appear older. I knew him from a coffee shop we both went to.

“Mr. O’Brien, I’m sooo happy you have decided to dress up for me today,” said the judge.

“I’m sorry your honor, I don’t really have nice clothes, just work stuff I guess.”

Mr. O’Brien’s charges were less than mine and I began to worry.

With a limp wrist, the judge waved it around the defendant and said, “Well if you’d like I could put you in a nice orange jumpsuit.” He laughed at his own joke.

The case went on and the defendant was ordered to pay a fee of $500 dollars.

“Up next on this glorious morning is South Shore Police Department vs. Francis St. Martin.”

I stood from my seet and approached the bench.

“Mr. St. Martin, hmmm…these charges are awfully serious, but stand up straight young man. How old are you 23, 24?”

“Uh, I’m 28, Your Honor.”

“Well you’re a very handsome young man, you should quit smoking, I noticed you in the parking lot.” He winked at me when he said this.

“I’m in the process of quitting sir.”

“Very nice, well, to me you seem like a nice young man, and your record doesn’t show anything too serious. Also, I’m glad to see one of the defendants (looking at the courtroom) decided to bathe and dress properly for me today. I’m going to let you off for now, but if you get in anymore of these knucklehead kinds of antics within a year, I’m going to see your little bum right back in my courtroom.”

I was in awe, the limp wrist waving like a wand, his voice up and down and up, yet the judge looked as if he was on his deathbed.

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

I was walking out of the courtroom when I heard the judge say, “The honor is all mine Mr. St.Martin.”