summary judgment that Bonita had personally hand-delivered to the judge. A motion based upon the notion that when a well-endowed woman takes her bikini top off on a busy street because a parrot is pecking in it, the chaos and injury that naturally follow are all within the confines of the act of God doctrine. That is, it wasn’t my client’s fault there was a car wreck, and he doesn’t have to pay anybody any money.
“Yes, Your Honor. My client, Jimmie Rodgers—”
“Good afternoon, Your Honor,” Jimmie said, rising slightly from his chair.
Rather than chastise me or my client for that slight breach of etiquette—clients weren’t supposed to talk at hearings, that’s why they hire lawyers—the judge nodded toward him.
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Rodgers was driving his automobile down Siesta Drive on a Sunday afternoon,” I said, in an overly animated voice, hoping to wake the judge up. “Being a cautious driver, he observed a young woman wearing a bikini and riding a bike along the side of the road. A large green parrot was sitting on her shoulder. Naturally Mr. Rodgers slowed down and took notice of her so that he would not endanger her in any way with his large automobile.”
“Um, objection, Your Honor, I…she’s not, um, supposed to…editorialize,” my opposing counsel said with a squeak in his voice. I hadn’t bothered to remember his name, though he had said it only five minutes before. Though he was a big guy, he looked about eighteen, a novice who didn’t even know lawyers don’t object over stuff like that in a hearing.
“Young man, this is a hearing on a motion. Not a jury trial. I assure you I can tell a fact from an editorial without your help,” the judge said.
Pretty arrogant, I thought, for a man who hadn’t been a judge more than a month and who hadn’t even been practicing law when the governor appointed him to the bench. But the fact that he’d taken a break from lawyering to work on a Ph.D. in history hadn’t interfered with his rise to the judiciary because both his brother and his father were Big Republicans duly elected to Important Offices and his aunt owned about a fifth of the southwestern part of the state of Florida and made large and regular campaign donations to the right people. After all, this was Sarasota, hometown of the woman heiress who selected our president for us back in the year 2000 and then not surprisingly rose from secretary of state to go on to greater political glory.
Putting aside my momentary resentment of the easy success of the well-connected, I said, “Thank you, Your Honor. As I was explaining, while Mr. Rodgers was driving down Siesta, the young woman pulled her bikini top off and shook—”
The judge looked over his glasses at me. Okay, got his attention. “Shook…what? The bikini top or—”
“Both. You should’ve—” Jimmie said, jumping up out of his chair as I tried to pinch his leg inconspicuously to signal him that he should shut up.
“Sit, Mr. Rodgers,” the judge said, cutting him off. “Continue, please, Counselor Cleary.”
“The young woman shook her bikini top out, Your Honor. As she explained later, the parrot had flown off for a moment and captured a lizard, then it dropped the lizard down her bikini top. That was bad enough, but when the parrot went pecking in her top after the lizard, well, naturally, she needed to shake her top out before the parrot bit her while chasing its…lunch. Mr. Rodgers was so surprised by her taking off her top and shaking it out, he naturally failed to notice that the car in front of him had slammed on its brakes.”
“My client, Your Honor, sir, did not, er, ‘slam on his brakes,’ he just slowed down. Her client was the one who did the slamming, right into the back of my client, knocking him from behind, when my client, er, was doing exactly what he was supposed to do, and…like, he got hurt,” said my earnest opposing counsel in triple-speed speak, complete with
“Yes, Your Honor. My client, Jimmie Rodgers—”
“Good afternoon, Your Honor,” Jimmie said, rising slightly from his chair.
Rather than chastise me or my client for that slight breach of etiquette—clients weren’t supposed to talk at hearings, that’s why they hire lawyers—the judge nodded toward him.
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Rodgers was driving his automobile down Siesta Drive on a Sunday afternoon,” I said, in an overly animated voice, hoping to wake the judge up. “Being a cautious driver, he observed a young woman wearing a bikini and riding a bike along the side of the road. A large green parrot was sitting on her shoulder. Naturally Mr. Rodgers slowed down and took notice of her so that he would not endanger her in any way with his large automobile.”
“Um, objection, Your Honor, I…she’s not, um, supposed to…editorialize,” my opposing counsel said with a squeak in his voice. I hadn’t bothered to remember his name, though he had said it only five minutes before. Though he was a big guy, he looked about eighteen, a novice who didn’t even know lawyers don’t object over stuff like that in a hearing.
“Young man, this is a hearing on a motion. Not a jury trial. I assure you I can tell a fact from an editorial without your help,” the judge said.
Pretty arrogant, I thought, for a man who hadn’t been a judge more than a month and who hadn’t even been practicing law when the governor appointed him to the bench. But the fact that he’d taken a break from lawyering to work on a Ph.D. in history hadn’t interfered with his rise to the judiciary because both his brother and his father were Big Republicans duly elected to Important Offices and his aunt owned about a fifth of the southwestern part of the state of Florida and made large and regular campaign donations to the right people. After all, this was Sarasota, hometown of the woman heiress who selected our president for us back in the year 2000 and then not surprisingly rose from secretary of state to go on to greater political glory.
Putting aside my momentary resentment of the easy success of the well-connected, I said, “Thank you, Your Honor. As I was explaining, while Mr. Rodgers was driving down Siesta, the young woman pulled her bikini top off and shook—”
The judge looked over his glasses at me. Okay, got his attention. “Shook…what? The bikini top or—”
“Both. You should’ve—” Jimmie said, jumping up out of his chair as I tried to pinch his leg inconspicuously to signal him that he should shut up.
“Sit, Mr. Rodgers,” the judge said, cutting him off. “Continue, please, Counselor Cleary.”
“The young woman shook her bikini top out, Your Honor. As she explained later, the parrot had flown off for a moment and captured a lizard, then it dropped the lizard down her bikini top. That was bad enough, but when the parrot went pecking in her top after the lizard, well, naturally, she needed to shake her top out before the parrot bit her while chasing its…lunch. Mr. Rodgers was so surprised by her taking off her top and shaking it out, he naturally failed to notice that the car in front of him had slammed on its brakes.”
“My client, Your Honor, sir, did not, er, ‘slam on his brakes,’ he just slowed down. Her client was the one who did the slamming, right into the back of my client, knocking him from behind, when my client, er, was doing exactly what he was supposed to do, and…like, he got hurt,” said my earnest opposing counsel in triple-speed speak, complete with
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