Your Tax Dollars At Work, Or: Prosecution is Serious Business

Watch out, boys.

Once upon a time I was a prosecutor. Prosecuting had been my dream job since I was a child. I'd always dreamt of pursuing justice and making the bad guys pay. I thought it would feel very Wonder Woman. The reality, however, was not very Justice League. Sure, sometimes I did big deal stuff like put pedophiles on the sex offender registry for the rest of their lives  and imprison crackheads who beat up elderly men with a shovel. Mostly, though, I did not. Mostly, I just spent my days helping no-one, trapped in a haze of craziness that made me question if I had accidentally eaten LSD for breakfast and that made me want to jump out the window... in front of an oncoming bus... during a blitzkrieg. Most days were like these:



It is a quiet Friday morning.  I'm in my office pulling warrant duty, which means that anyone who comes to the office to take out a criminal complaint must go through me.  I'm playing Call of Duty on my iPhone diligently working on important business. Suddenly a very redneck, straight out of a TLC special, woman bursts in all crazy eyed. I am sore afraid. I drop my iPhone business papers and immediately get killed by a nazi zombie mess up my, um, important business. I am displeased before this encounter even properly begins.

Woman: I need to get a warrant.
Me: What's the situation?
Woman: Well, see, I let my neighbor use my warshing machine on account of he don't have one.
Me: That was very neighborly of you.
Woman: *snorts* Yeah. But I'll be damned if he didn't steal my painties (if the inclusion of the "i" didn't make it clear, panties here is said with a long a)
Me: He stole your underwear?
Woman: Yeah. Stole it right out the warsher. See he's one of them transvites (NB: not a typo, she actually said transvites)
Me: So you want a warrant because your undergarments were stolen?
Woman: Oh naw. That ain't it.
Me: Ok, then what is it?
Woman: Well see then this weekend we was down to the trailer park at a party. Well, I saw him. I couldn't help myself. So I yelled, "Ay, you f#@kin painty theivin' transvite, give me my damn painties back." Well he didn't do nuthin' but flip me right off.  And then when I came outta the party all my tires was slashed. I knowed it was that transvite bastard that did it. I want you to arrest him.


_______________

I'm in the courtroom on a Thursday morning. It is child support day. I am prosecuting deadbeat mothers and fathers. I am superbly busy and overwhelmed. My paralegal and I must meet with 114 people in a span of two hours and determine who has simply fallen upon hard times but is doing the best they can and who's just a dickbag who doesn't care if their child eats. Most everyone we encounter smells like a grain-alcohol, marijuana, body-odor cocktail. But then, as the long morning is about to come to an end, my paralegal calls out for the next person. A dapper young gentlemen enters. He does not stink. He is not wearing pajamas. It is an anomaly.

Him: Hey gurrrrls. I'm John Doe of Louisville. How you doin'?
Me: Great. First, do not call us "girls." You may call me by name or you may call me ma'am, but you will not refer to me as "hey gurl." Second, you haven't paid your child support in a very long time.
Him: Yep.
Me: That's unacceptable. Are you working?
Him: I gots my own company. I'm a producer. You may of heard of me. John Doe of Louisville.
Me: Yeah, I got that the first time around. Producer of what? And does your business have any income?
Him: Videos. Different types. *pregnant pause* You know, maybe you oughts to just be in one of my videos.
Me: That's all sorts of inappropriate and it's not going to happen. Now, back to my question. Do you have any income?
Him (gesturing to my paralegal): Well then mayhaps the help wantsta star in my videos.
Me: You will not refer to her as the help. She is a paralegal. She has a name. It is _________. Neither ______ nor I will be performing in your videos. Now answer my question.
Him: Well that's fine then. But you should check 'em out anyway. I just released a new one. Music video. It's good. *hands me a card with his youtube channel's url*
Me: Do you have any income or not? Why aren't you paying your child support?
Him: I mean, some. I don't make a lot producing. But, yeah I gots income.
Me: Then why aren't you making any payments?
Him: I gots bills. Things to pay. I hadsta get me a car.
Me: You thought getting a new vehicle was more important than making sure your sons had food on the table and shoes to wear?
Him: Nah, you ain't understand Miss Rachel. It ain't like that. It's rough. I hadsta ride the TARC to get groceries. You hear me? The TARC bus!
Me: Fine. So now you've got a vehicle and you can drive yourself to Walmart. I expect to see a payment next month or you'll be looking at time.
Him: Well, now I can't do that. My car's got a hole in the floorboard. I gotsta get that fixed! It's dangerous! You don't want me to get hurt, do you, Miss Rachel?

______________



It is a Tuesday afternoon. I'm back on warrant duty. I've just opened a delicious container of blueberry Skyr when my door opens and a well-groomed, conservative-looking, middle-aged couple walks in. After the barrage of crack addicts and baby mama drama I've dealt with all morning, seeing some normal looking people is refreshing. In fact, it's encouraging. Here, I think, is my chance to be Wonder Woman. Here is my chance to pursue justice, peace, truth, and right.  Wrong.

Me: Hi. What can I help you with?
Them: We need to get a warrant.
Me: What's the situation? 

Them: Well, you see, there's this girl we've done volunteer work with. Real nice little gal. But we need to get a warrant on her.
Me: Well, why? What did she do?
Them: You see, she invited us over for dinner. We thought it was nice that this young girl was going to make dinner for us. Only it wasn't really. See, it turns out she's into that S&M.

Me: Um, ok. 

Them: Yeah. She showed us pictures. Right there at the dinner table. Pictures of her. And then she offered to mentor us in all that S&M stuff. So we want a warrant.

Me: Well, I understand you're offended, but that's not really a crime.

Them (in absolute horror): Ma'am! I don't think you understand! We saw a photograph of her spanking a gentleman with a cutting board! That type of thing just can't be unseen.

And that's what being a prosecutor is like, kids. Thanks for inviting me to speak at your career day.