The Ritual
In the party town that sports an infamous party school notorious for its wealthy student body and successful alumni there is a ritual. Only to be preformed by those who reside in Mammon's house. Those who feed on scandal and are insatiable for sympathy.
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Each week, Monday and Wednesday at 9:00am the municipal court is open for the 8-15 college students who had been arrested and charged with a DUI over the weekend. They all stand before the judge to plead guilty in search forgiveness by way of the county's adjudication program, in which, a first-time offender can pay a small fine and take a twenty-five dollar course on 'how not to drive drunk' or whatever ,and in six months the mishap is expunged from their record leaving them squeaky clean.
These cases are always dealt with at the top of the morning. They want to make sure the university's bright young scholars don't miss any class time. In order to make the process even more speedy and dystopian every person charged with DUI represented by one lawyer. Everyone stands together like soda cans waiting to be shot down. Some in the line-ups aren't able to stay away from our nations original pastime and are not as lucky as there first time offending peers, but usually their comments and consequences get lost in the repetitive monologue that the judge delivers before sentencing each person.
"By entering a plea of guilty you hereby forfeit the right to a trial and will upon entering the guilty plea will be convicted of the crime you choose to plea guilty to. You are also forfeiting the right to continue and enter a plea of not guilty. You also give up the right to be presumed innocent , and the right to have your government prove beyond a reasonable doubt that you are guilty. You give up the right to confront or challenge witnesses or to have the court order witnesses you might have in your defense to give testimony if you wanted to present a case. Do you understand the rights I have just explained to you? No one has threatened, bribed, or otherwise coerced you into giving this plea of guilty? And you still wish to plea guilty today?
Over and over this is repeated for every single case until each emphasis and pause is disdainfully committed to memory. They rhythm becomes almost hypnotic, the repetitiveness lulls you into a blissful acceptance of their sentencing, never really registering the fines and fees until after the call and response is completed and the judges' matter of course is being discussed
They shift impatiently in their stiff suits they glance around in a silent effort to parse who the 'real' criminals are. I'm not with these people, I'm not supposed to be here, a glance to the bailiff you're with me right?
Those who are not this lucky line-up sit on hard wooden pews to wait to be called up. Most glance at the large double doors in the back of the courtroom every time it creaks open. Bail bondsmen sit in the back and wait to take responsibility for their possible no shows. Sometimes prisoners are brought in from the correctional facility to sit and wait shackled together on the first row. Those who plan to plea today are anxious to see their public defender, hoping to not have to go up there alone.
Those in the DUI line chat and laugh in the lobby with their attorney. Some are even known by name sans reference of their court file. These people are getting filled in on the process and are assured that their desired outcome is already 'pretty much guaranteed'. They look down at the gallery of people who are obviously used to this whole song and dance. While they go free others wait to be released of the vice-like grip of the law.
"You wish you were me," seeps from their pores, drips from their teeth and in many ways its true. I do wish.
Each time I am called to the stand all I have is the trust that my suggested plea of guilty is the right decision without having anything explained to me apart from where and when I would need to appear. I try my hardest to remember everything that my representation explained to me months ago in the cramped interrogation-style room that the jail used for this sort of meeting.
And you wish to plead guilty?
y-Yes..sir
I'm gonna need you to speak up so there's no mistake on the record
He points to the stenographer who waits intently for me to repeat myself. My face turns hot.
Yes Sir. I Do.
I am handed a folder and shuffled off the the sidebar. The court secretary tries to explain what is inside my new folder but the adrenaline drowns her out. She smiles and tells me to have a good day and I am almost put off by her causality. She hands me the folder back to me with the normalcy of a cashier handing back a receipt This as normal as anything of the sort to her.
Charge, plea, paperwork.
Please, when I call your name step forward and line up one after the other.
And how do you spell that?
Have a good day.
I nod
You too
I face the rows of pews, squeeze through the saloon doors that separate the gallery from the bench, and stride down the long isle trying to keep my head up and not look at my feet like child in trouble. I am not ashamed.
When I push the doors open to the municipal lobby I half expect to find something other than the metal detector and blue short-stack carpet and rows of seating that greeted me that morning, but of course as I re-enter reality it is still Monday, it's 10:30 and I still have to clock in for work in a few hours.
