Judging Monique
While black is not my best color, I still look quite ravenous in it. Thus, I was utterly thrilled to perform as an official adjudicator in Animal Control at Firehouse Theatre. I really was quite suited for the part as I’ve actually already had a contentious confirmation hearing. While the senators involved agreed to call the mess an “intern interview,” I imagine the word got out to Firehouse’s casting director, because I found myself called upon last night to mediate a most troubling conundrum.
You see, I thought I was attending a play by Chelsea Handler, but apparently the actors were so distraught over a doggie tiff that they refused to perform the actual show. Instead, they pled their cases before me and begged for a decision. Now, we all know that only foolish actors have lawyers, so they all decided to represent themselves. I appreciated their habeas corpus but truthfully longed for a more professional presentation of the law, as there wasn’t a Law & Order stinger to be heard, which I tend to require in all my courtrooms.
Now, the actors couched their mens rea as a “world premiere,” which should have been a tip off to the audience that something fishy was going on, besides the stockings I wore under my robe. “World Premiere” is a Latin term meaning Firstus Whirlibus. The show had been running for weeks . . . so if the night I attended was in fact a “world premiere,” things were off the rails.
Indeed they were. The set had been stripped of all decoration, while dust-colored paint outlined clocks and other items that used to be there. While waiting to present their cases, the actors posed dramatically and smoked behind chain link fences, a truly brazen legal strategy. I was afraid the Marshal (a striking woman who was taking notes in colorful manila folders) would lead them away in handcuffs, given that smoking is forbidden in government buildings, but I think the Marshal was put off by the fence, a truly formidable and metaphorical barrier. The actors managed to put out their cigarettes completely, but I wasn’t worried because there was a random fire extinguisher down right.
Now the case. The ipso facto was a dog scrape/laceration/gash. Word choice is important and also seemed to be the Marshal’s reason for living. The plaintiff was a golden doodle named Winston Churchill and the defendant was a three-legged pit bull mix named Bailey. I don’t know why CE (Canines Equity) was not picketing because both parts were played by white male humans. But I suppose that’s another lawsuit entirely.
Aside from a few pictures and a J-Lo appearance (character witness from the block), there wasn’t much in the way of evidence, but luckily I have a truly perceptive legal mind. I quickly determined, using de novo reasoning, that the only thing to do was to cut the pit bull in two and give half to each actor. The decision was met by convulsive sobs, screams, and a reveal of some surprising backstory, but I know this was the right decision because the entire audience applauded at my verdict once the lights went down.
The less legally astute reader may wonder how I ruled so judicially. My biggest clue was that there were empty bottles of water on stage but NO WATER COOLER. There was a water heater with NO PIPES. There was a computer with NO CHARGING CORD. Thus, it was clear that the pit bull destroyed these items prior to the performance necessitating the impromptu trial. Elementary, my dear Winston.
As I left the courtroom, I heard murmurings of impeachment, which means my performance was ab initio, no doubt. Now that I’ve solved the backstage infighting, I’m sure the show can go on ex post facto. Or perhaps it will close tomorrow. Justice is blind.
