I enter the court room to find a host of pro se (for non-law dorks this means people who represent themselves) litigants smoking openly in court. A woman with dreadful halitosis and an improperly placed nose piercing approaches and immediately begins trying to tell me all about her car accident that happened 6 years ago. After she tells me all about her back pain, she fires up a cigarette and takes a seat. I make my way to the other side of the courtroom to sit with the other out of town attorneys (who are not smoking). When my case is finally called opposing counsel attempts to defeat my summary judgment motion pulling a surprise witness out of his hat like that magician dude on Frosty the Snowman (who, incidentally, always reminded me of my Uncle Boone). The judge is halfway pursuaded and opts not to rule on the motion until after we've deposed the witness. I leave the courtroom, pleased with my half-win and thrilled to be able to breathe again. I crank up my iPod and begin to celebrate.
But then I realize I must now deal with Surprisewitness. My boss agrees to accompany me to Surprisewitness's house so that we can interview him. I park my car in a super muddy holler and approach a dilapidated wooden house with too many Christmas lights on the front porch. Immediately upon stepping into the grassless yard I sense that the sewer runs straight out of the back of the house and into the yard because the smell instantly makes me want to puke in a sink. I look down with pity at my Kate Spade shoes that are now marred up in the poo-mud. Then I realize that my shoes are probably worth more than Surprisewitness's house and I feel like a terrible dickbag for being so concerned with my footwear. Luckily, shock would soon pull me out of that guilt riddled funk.
We approach the front door. 6 cats swarm me. The door is barricaded with plywood. This serves little purpose as a burglar deterrence mechanism, though, because there is a gaping hole in the side of the house. Nevertheless, I opt to make my way around to the side door, which does not appear to be barricaded. I knock and stand waiting in the poo-mud. A minute or so later a toothless Mrs. Surprisewitness opens the door in an oversized t-shirt. And only an oversized t-shirt. My boss introduces us and Mrs. Surprisewitness invites us in.
Mr. and Mrs. Surprisewitness's house is one huge room. The stove, furnace, toilet (yes, toilet), bed and couch are all right in the same area. This immediately sent me into a panic, fearing that Mrs. Suprisewitness who apparently has no modesty would attempt to make use of the open-air toilet while we were there. There are no lights. But for the tiny tiny tv playing Spongebob Squarepants re-runs, I would have thought the house had no electricity. The walls are unpainted, mostly rotten wood and covered from floor to ceiling in 3X5 photos, posters of Elvis and Native Americans, and random pieces of costume jewlery. I wonder how exactly it came to be that I had stepped into a Rob Zombie movie.
Surprisewitness invites us to take a seat. I didn't realize this, however, as Suprisewitness talks a lot like Farmer Fran from Waterboy. Even after Mrs. Suprisewitness translates and I understand there's been an invitation to sit, I still find myself completely unable to take a seat. As I begin to make my way to a chair, I cannot avoid picturing Mrs. Suprisewitness's pantsless ass in it and I become overwhelmingly afraid of contracting swine AIDS. I move over to stand next to the furnace and suddenly more cats than I can count swarm me. I comment on a cute calico kitten. Mrs. Surprisewitness says, "Yeah I got 20 of 'em. Go through 10 bags of catfood a month."
My boss and I ask Surprisewitness some questions with Mrs. Surprisewitness translating. As we explain to Suprisewitness the deposition process and that he will be receiving a subpoena, a cute pomerainian emerges from behind the silver Christmas tree and jumps into Mrs. Suprisewitness's bare lap. Mrs. Surprisewitness begins snuggling the dog and I hear her say, "You won ye chew tabacky?" I am certain that I have now become unable to understand her, too, since it sounded like she just asked her dog if she wanted to gnaw on some Copenhagen. Then Mrs. Surprisewitness turns to my boss, "She chews tobacker. You ever see a dog chew backer? Hey D, get her some chew." Surprisewitness brings a few strings of tobacco to the dog. The dog proceeds to gnaw on them as if they were a chew toy. Mrs. Suprrisewitness says, "See? Aw, she looooves her tabacky."
So the moral of the story - A. You can at least sort of win hopeless motions. B. People really live in some horrifying and heartbreaking conditions. C. Kate Spade shoes and poo-mud don't mix. D. Dogs have vices, too.
*Originally written 12/08/2009
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