Just like when I had to go to the Embassy, I admit to being curious about court. And just like my time spent at the Embassy, curiosity turned to boredom long before I was allowed to leave.

I got to court at 9am, just like my subpoena instructed. Far from the dignified chambers I had expected, the room featured squeaky wooden chairs and a judge’s bench that rose a mere two feet from the ground.  The judge’s post, as well as the tables for the attorneys, seemed to be cheap faux-birch particle board. I dug in and watched the buzz of the lawyers, trying to determine their relative amounts of smarminess based upon their suit choices. Court finally got rolling around 10am. I spent the next hour scribbling down legal terms so that I could look them up later (e.g. I’m pretty sure that “OR is denied” means “the defendant will not be released on her own recognizance”). Finally around 11am, the District Attorney in my case strolled in. I can’t explain why, but I took some bizarre pride in noting that he looked especially un-smarmy, even more so after meeting with him. He pulled me out of the court and explained that he didn’t normally deal with petty stuff like tagging (”me either!”, I wanted to protest), but spent most of his time working on domestic violence cases. He said the kid in my case had a domestic violence conviction as well as a few convictions for dealing drugs. I’d had plenty of misgivings about testifying against a guy because he’d written a tiny tag on a parking lot wall, but the domestic violence conviction sucked out a lot of my sympathy for him. The attorney said he was going to offer the defendant a deal (which included jail time because he’d broken his parole so often), and that the kid would be stupid not to take it. Thirty minutes later I got the news that the deal was denied and that I was to come back at 1:30am for the hearing.

It turned out the day was as beautiful as the rest we’ve had recently and I got kinda sad about being stuck inside. Then I realized I would’ve been sitting inside working regardless, so maybe this two hour break was a blessing. Wandering around SoMa soaking up the sun, I was smiling like a man who’d just completed a monumental chore. I ate some pizza alfresco and sucked down a few mid-day gins. If I wasn’t going to be back at work, I figured I could at least make the most of it.

When court finally started again at 2:15pm (45 minutes late, did you catch that?), there were a few more arraignments to be worked through. “My” case came up last. The defendent, dressed in jailcell orange (love the orange Vans!), spent much of his waiting time in tears. The DA, who seemed to have spent some time with this guy, told me he always did that in court. Just as the hearing was about to start, the lawyers headed up to the bench for a last-minute meeting with the judge. It turns out the kid claimed he was “addicted to tagging”. Um. He got sent to behavioral court or something for an evaluation. If the court agrees that he’s, ahem, “addicted to tagging”, he’ll go through some special program and get treatment. If the court agrees that it’s a ridiculous last-ditch attempt to save his ass from jail, they’ll reconvene the hearing and he might get offered a new deal. If he doesn’t take that, I’ll probably have to go back to testify in a jury trial.

Update: Just for the record, I’m not actually gunning for this kid to go to jail. It’s not like I have any say in it anyway. I’m just some weird playing piece in a game that has nothing to do with me. I wasn’t, as Emily thought, angry about the fact that he might end up in treatment. It’s probably a better place for him. But it is a ridiculous last-ditch attempt to save his ass from jail, clearly. I’m just stating the facts, here!