Monday Night in Vegas: Where’d the Party Go?

So, for those of you who did not see this, I was arrested in July with my colleague at the Wynn Hotel – owned by Steve Wynn – for drinking or something?  I got my date in court – a scheduling affair for my date in court.

My colleague and I flew into Vegas, figuring we’d find something kind of interesting to do. We did not want to walk around the strip too much, because as anyone who has walked around the city sober knows, it smells like defecation everywhere.  But, when we got onto the strip, there wasn’t much going on. We wondered, where was everybody?  The drug dealers?? the hookers???

The next morning at our 7:30am court date, we found everyone! They were all at the court house, which was as packed as a casino on the weekend. After we went through the metal detector, shoes and belts off, we were hoarded towards big blue screens like airport flight monitors, where we were directed towards our room.

Once in our separate rooms, we were treated to a television show: the in-custodies. That is, those who were still locked up for their court date.  The first person I saw was in there for first degree murder. Others were in there for smuggling marijuana – under an ounce – across state borders, thus resulting in a federal crime. One guy was in there mistaken as his father. The judge clearly saw that, but told the inmate the state would look into it.

During this demonstration of state power, I was fooling around on my cell phone, texting back with my former colleague who was in a different room. I was called out by the bailiff, who asked me what I was doing. I didn’t quite understand the question?

“Excuse me?”

Were you on your cell phone.

Oh, yes I was! It did not compute yet that I was a child in a classroom. She ordered me to turn it off or I’d be in contempt of court.

I thought about holding up the court.

“What’s your plea?”

“to this crime, your honor, not guilty, but for what’s next quickly sentenced guilty. Put your hands up. This is a stickup. Bailiff, don’t move. Plaintiff, start emptying your wallet. All right, here is your bond, take all the jewelry off…”

I snapped out of it!

I turned off the cell phone.

I sat back down…

I turned the cell phone back on.

My name was then called and I walked through the little ledge that represents me stepping onto the ship of state. I was ready to set sail!

“Did you read the complaint?”

“Yes.”

“Did you understand the complaint?”

“On the third time.” I shot a look at the plaintiff and smiled. She blushed.

“What does the state recommend?” the judge asked the plaintiff.

“Oh, I’ll do the exact opposite of that,” I thought. Who wants to do what the state tells you to do. Like that is ever a good idea. Like some public defender who goes and catches drinks with the judge after work when they both talk about wanting to boink the plaintiff or maybe the clerk are going to lookout for your best interest.

“$250 for a guilty plea,” the plaintiff suggested.

“Plaintiff, you smokin’ refer?” I thought. “I already spent 26 hours behind bars, 4 of which chained to metal chairs, that’s why I’m not guilty and I want my right to jury trial so I can give this all a different angle, and how about a public defendant despite their penchant for state aggrandizement?”

The Plaintiff, who I was sure to flirt plenty with throughout the morning, shuffled her papers – my report – nervously.

“He can’t have a jury! He can’t have a public defendant, because we aren’t asking for jail time!”

“Ok, how do i get what she has? It looks like it’s my charges…subpoena, veiled threat, what’s my option?”

“For discovery go to room ten,” said the judge.

“No, that’s not the one, i think it’s across the street where you can get what I have,” said the plaintiff.

“No, that’s in the law library,” said the clerk.

“All right, when’s the date then?”

January 14 was the date they gave me.

To be continued…

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