Let me paint a picture for ya'. There's a skinny rock 'n' roll fuck-up sittin' outside a room in a federal courthouse, more than a little nervous, at 8:00 AM, figuratively resembling a dog walking comfortably on it's hind legs because he's wearing decent clothes and a tie. There's five chairs, each occupied by someone waiting to take care of their case.
And a line of roughly thirty-something people waiting to do the same.
We get called in at the same, time, cramming into a tiny court room designed for about half of the people who were actually in it. There's about six or seven defense attorneys standing, calling names and talking with their respective "clients". Eventually, the rocker gets called up, his heart skips a beat, and he makes his way to his own court appointed lawyer, expecting the worst.
Ten minutes later, he walks outta' the courtroom with a year's probation and a five hundred dollar fine.
This is what I've been stressin' about for the last six months? For fuck's sake, it would've taken longer to smoke the roaches I got caught with than it did to get all this taken care of! I was expecting a judge, a prosecutor, and a jail sentence. What I got was the equivalent of a drive-through justice window. Don't misread, I'm totally stoked that I essentially got off with a slap on the wrist, but is this really how they handle federal offenses? As a taxpayer I'm pissed, but as a guy who's not getting assraped, I'm elated.
So, essentially, as long as I can come up with the money to pay the fine, and I somehow manage not to do anything stupid for the next three hundred and sixty-five days, I'm in the clear.
God bless our indifferent justice system.
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