Jury Sniddly

Jury snoozey.
My eyes flutter closed as three interpreters step up to say whatever this guy, Mr. James Blain, just finished saying. On she goes in Chinese.

Jury dury.

The thing about that guy is that he’s got small round sunglasses on, a real hip voice, kinda making this whole thang kinda sexy.

Now the bleachy-blonde Russian interpreter, blowing out the mic with her “specibos.”

And now the meek and whispery Spanish interpreter for, as the guy next to me just said, “Spanish people with really good hearing.”

The people behind me are laughing, I’m laughing, the guy next to me is laughing, the lady on the other side of me is scowling. Borrowing my pen repeatedly, scowling.

“If you do not have a basic understanding of English, then stand up and get on this line, is what these women just said to you,” hip-hoppiter says.

Ten people stand up.

“NO! DO NOT GET UP if you UNDERSTOOD what I just said!”

~

Picked on a case for next week. Tweedledee and Tweedledum put me on their car accidento case. After I was repeatedly harassed by one of them, let’s say Tweedledum, with his Guidoey slicked hair and his way of lisping as in: “She shaid,” for “she said.” He impressed upon us his “aggressive style” and wanted to know how we plan to distinguish between two people who say different things about the same incident. You know, what clues might they give you…YOU, journalist, what do you look for?”

“Well,” I said, “you take cues off of body posture, like, for instance, when someone crosses their arms and cocks their head” as he crossed his arms and cocked his head.

Laughing at him seems to have scored points. Picker picked me. So it goes.