Typical Day
It's 8:00AM, and while most of the workforce is busy putting on their belt, shoes, and jacket for work, Bailey McPatdown is taking them off.
He sheds his clothes like a pro and strides through the metal detector with the confidence of someone who's done this for 30 years, which is how long Bailey has worked as a bailiff at the Hicryme County Courthouse.
Past security, Bailey heads to the break room, where he spots a few leftover donuts—probably from some attorney's birthday celebration the day before. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Bailey snatches one ("to keep his strength up," he thinks) and dashes to the elevator. He presses the button for the seventh floor, where he'll be working for the day.
The courtroom is dead silent when he walks in, and Bailey can hear the pound-pound of his shoes against the aisle's hardwood floor. He goes to find Judge Ana Rubble assigned to that courtroom for the day. He doesn't get far in his search, though, as Judge Rubble enters the room through the side door.
"Ah!" she says, inspecting Bailey over her spectacles. She's carrying a huge stack of papers. "Sir! Excuse me! Sir? Where is my water? Can we make that available at the bench, please?" Bailey knows the "we" in that sentence means him. Can he make that available at the bench? He nods, and heads to the water cooler in the corner.
"And, ah, sir!" Judge Rubble calls out behind him. "Please make sure there are fresh dry-erase markers for any exhibits, please. Last time, the fool attorneys didn't come prepared and neither was the bailiff. The witnesses ended up using permanent marker." She said "permanent marker," in a hushed whisper as though it were so appalling she couldn't bring herself to say the words aloud.
Bailey patted his front breast pocket. "Got 'em right here, Your Honor."
"Oh, good," she muttered as she climbed with considerable effort to the bench. Soon, folks trickled in. Some were teary-eyed, perhaps related to the wronged party, but most were simply bored family members who would rather be grocery shopping than in the courtroom. Bailey goes to fetch the jury who will serve in today's civil trial. Before he enters the room, though, Bailey takes a quick peek at the jury, who are sitting in the break room munching on croissants and sipping Capri-Suns.
"They look bored already," he thinks to himself. "Poor suckers. They ain't seen nothing yet. This is civil court. They're going to get a lot more bored in a second."
Bailey introduces himself, then marches the jury in, like a mama duck marches in front of her ducklings. Having seated the jury-ducklings, Bailey then escorts the defendant, Lee Tigant, to his seat at the end of the defense table. Bailey handles Lee a little gruffly, not because he dislikes him—it's civil court, he's probably not that bad—but because he wants to show him who's boss. Experience has told him things run more smoothly throughout the trial when he plays Bad Guy from the outset.
With everyone in their rightful places, water for Judge Rubble, and more dry-erase markers than a person would ever need, Bailey is ready to call the court to order. In a booming voice, he says, "ALL RISE!"
And everyone does. It's the one greatest pleasure of his job, Bailey believes; telling a roomful of people to rise and then watching them actually do it, numbly, passively...which, in truth, is exactly how he feels at his job almost all the time.
After calling the court to order, the judge takes over.
"Thank you. Now, ladies and gentlemen, we've got a deposition before us today. But before we get to arguments of counsel, I want to make a few things clear about how I run the courtroom..."
And with that, it's Judge Rubble's show now. Bailey fades into the background. He steps to the edge of the courtroom, with his back to the wall, feet planted, hands stuffed in his pockets. He knows that he looks like he's paying very serious attention.
He's not.
"Civil cases are more boring than watching grass grow," thinks Bailey. At least watching grass grow means you're outside, lying in the grass, with a cool breeze over you. Watching civil court is like tearing your fingernails from their beds millimeter by millimeter, while a clock ticks in your head (tic-TOC, tic-TOC) without ever making any progress. Civil court is boring, and Bailey is bored as always.
He's not the only one. The jury is bored too. He can tell. One woman, Juror Number 6, in the far corner keeps dozing off. Another juror, Number 11, is texting on his phone. Bailey knows that's against the rules, which require him to confiscate the phone. But he just can't be bothered. There's no way that juror is in cahoots with the defendant, Lee; and taking away his cell phone won't make him pay any more attention. So he lets it slide.
Besides, confiscating that cell phone would interrupt the game of I-Spy he's playing with himself, which to be honest isn't all that much fun when you're the only player. Today's assignment? Something furry. He looks hard at all the spectators’ clothing, looking for a fur coat or something. Disappointed, he gives up.
Still another hour before lunch. For a brief, foolish moment, Bailey wishes he were in prison himself. Anywhere but here. But lunch finally comes. And with some non-donut fuel in his body, the rest of the afternoon passes relatively quickly.
At the end of the day, there aren't any incidents. No one attacked him. No one tried to set off a bomb in his courtroom. No one even needed to be told to, "SIT DOWN." No gavel needed to be banged, not once. A day like any other day, Bailey sighs to himself.
On the bright side, thinks Bailey, he knows a little bit more about the penalties for making faulty insurance claims. Part of him knows he could have learned more in a half-hour at the library. But the other part, the more reasonable part of him, knows that a job is a job, and this one pays the bills at the very least.