I know, I know. For all you non-legal-beagles out there, these law entries are getting tres boring. My vast and deepest apologies, oh fickle audience. I chose to make this my thing of the day because, well, for me, its a pretty big deal. It was also incredibly eye opening.
When I was an undergrad, I interned at the US Attorney's office in Detroit. I spent the vast majority of my time sitting in a dark room, cataloging checks and receipts that they subpoenaed from, umm, someone, somewhere. I'm not trying to be vague for confidentiality. I just don't remember. It was some dude. He was maybe doing bad things. So we did the absolute most logical thing to start the investigation. We looked in his checkbook.
Et tu, American Express?
Of course, I know now that even the most impressive criminal masterminds can be brought down by a thorough investigation of their finances. I mean, when you pay someone off, that money has to come from somewhere. It doesn't just grow on the illicit pot plants you used to build your empire. More importantly, I am now keenly aware of just how valuable it is to get the bad guys' accountant to turn state's evidence. Who knew such a dorky job could wield so much power over murderous thieves?
Call me a putz, will you?
All that mumbo-jumbo aside, I thought I got a good education about the American court system when I was working there. And I did. Well, at the federal level. The thing about the courthouse I went to in Detroit is that it was exactly what people think of when they picture the halls of justice. There were portraits on the walls of past judges, mahogany benches upon which learned men sat to deliver their judgments. The outside of the building bore that impressive marble facade that courthouses are supposed to display.
As for the court I went to in Lansing? Not so much. As we sat and waited on a bench outside the courtroom, I couldn't help but notice how little pomp and circumstance there was compared to Detroit. It isn't a Lansing/Detroit distinction either. Its a federal/state distinction. We were in the local, less auspicious court. Despite how much less austere it was, the sense of import was definitely still present.
Our client would not be any less impacted by the ruling of the court because there weren't marble floors. Our client would not be better off if the bench was made of rich mahogany. In fact, sitting there with the dim lighting, pressed linoleum floors and courtrooms that looked more like strangely laid out offices to me; I felt even stronger of a pull to help the client. Here, in this place, people fall through cracks. I wanted to make sure that didn't happen to the person we were there representing.
I'm not sure if it was the atmosphere or the fact that I'd worked on this particular client's case directly, but I got back that old familiar feeling that I was in the right place at the right time. I was also stricken by the fear that we would be ruled against. See, when I was working in Detroit, if my boss came back with a ruling against his client, well, quite frankly, it didn't change my day much. Here though, well, it would be a blow. The tension and nervousness, as well as the whole 'hurry up and wait' sensation were all present.
It was like being backstage at the Oscars. If the Oscars weren't televised, no one wore gowns and losing meant you had to go to jail. So, you know, no pressure.
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