Two men, waiting for one of the courts to open, are getting phonecalls and chatting in the antechamber of the court. I step out to see what’s up. Confusion does happen, thinking perhaps they’d been sent to the wrong spot.
“Where are you supposed to be?” I ask.
“Department X at 3:30, for a settled statement on appeal,” says bearded man.
“Hmmm, that doesn’t sound right,” says I. I walk toward the door to that court, putting my hand in my pocket to retrieve the key required to open said door, intending to ask the clerk of the court what might be going on. As I move the few steps this requires, I inform the men, “Court is over for that department.”
“Well, you guys are on your own schedule,” the man says. From his tone, I can only presume he thinks he’s being witty.
“You guys?” I ask, stopping at the door.
The man stares at me.
“I’m sorry, who do you mean when you say “you guys”?” I ask.
He continues to stare.
My key is left in my pocket as I take my hand out and begin ticking off points, “Because if you are referring to officers, our schedule is mandated by the department, so that would be inaccurate. If you are referring to the courts, it would be inaccurate to lump me in with them, as I work for a different agency.”
“I was just making a joke, just like I would with any of my crew. I swing a hammer, you carry a gun. We’re the same dude.”
“Sir, I don’t know you from Adam, so it would be a gross presumption on your part to assume we were ‘the same dude’.
“I guess you’re right. You’re a lot meaner than me.”
I do so love to watch people burn their bridges with abandon, not knowing that had they been civil, I might have done them a favor. As it was, I had no responsibility to aid this asshat, so I said simply, “Have a fun waiting out here,” and returned to my courtroom.
It was an hour before the pair were told to go downstairs and try and get their matter dealt with. I can only hope that the offices were closed when they did.