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2005-11-18 - 12:33 p.m.

BJ’s Bloopers and Blunders: Volume III

Segment 4

The Storm

Our constitution guarantees we have our day in court. I finally got my day in court, but last summer that was a right I would have gladly given up.

I did not want to appear in court and be attacked as the accursed villain out trashing sex lives.

This past August, fourteen days shy of the seven-year anniversary of my dire first meeting with the woman in the Dodge Caravan, I reported to the Knox County Court House, located in a small community about 35 miles east of here.

Before flying (I’m a white knuckle flyer) I visit my personal quack for a few tabs of Xanax that help me board the plane and keep me from running and screaming in the aisle while on the plane. A week prior to our scheduled court date I visited my quack.

“You flying off someplace interesting?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Next week I plan on flying off the handle. Load me up!”

With a bit more explanation of my upcoming Armageddon I had my Xanax, hopefully powerful enough to keep me planted firmly in the defendant’s chair and not wrapped around the necks of Mr. and Mrs. Sexless Looney Tunes (they had moved even further down on my scale of honest—and sane--people) choking more than their miserable sex lives out of them.

When I entered Ann was the only person in the court room, but it wasn’t long before the scumbag and the Looney Tunes were there with us. Ann nudged me and with a shake of her head let it be known a triple homicide was not part of our planned trial strategy. I remained in my chair on the defendant’s side--my side--of the room, but I couldn’t keep from glaring at them. I’d seen Mr. Sexless Looney Tunes only once before (from a distance at the age-old fender-bender, and he had not been present at prior legal wranglings). The man was a doofus. And a weird one. Had he come into my bedroom I would’ve imposed a celibate life on myself. But, in fairness to him, Mrs. Sexless Looney Tunes—albeit the owner of some bodacious tatas—wasn’t a winsome beauty, either. Although that day (and the next) she was coiffed, moderately painted and conservatively dressed.

By 9:00 a.m. the court room was full of potential jurors, and it was obvious from their conversations and nervous body language they didn’t want to be there any more than I did. Then the judge entered. His handmade black suit, white shirt and black tie and scraggly beard were telltale. The judge was either a Mennonite or a Mennonite wannabe!

Ann and I are both aggressive, arrogant and liberal females.

We were history!

After voir dire—where, yes, indeed, I was made out to be an accursed scrounge and criminal and assassin of sex—and after Ann vigorously argued against the Clerk of Court being on the panel (the judge scolded her: “You brought this here, now you take what you get.”) our jury was seated.

Let the games begin.

Scumbag called me to the witness stand first. I was only on a brief time, just enough time to verify I had indeed been in the accident with Mrs. Sexless Looney Tunes, to look at and verify the police report (which I quickly informed him and the jury was erroneous) and to answer “I honestly can’t remember something that minor from that long ago” numerous times to his puffed-up, flimflam questions. Just enough time to show the jury I was an arrogant, unsympathetic and angry defendant. Bingo! Then I was released from testimony.

Mrs. Sexless Looney Tunes was up next, and he led her through her wonderful life with her wonderful and caring husband and her wonderful children. Her main joys in life were her family and taking care of her family, her Sunday School teaching job and her church (We were history!). Of course, that was all prior to the horrendous and life-changing accident in 1998! The woman deserved a freaking Oscar. She was melt-in-your-mouth wholesome and sweet. I was incensed, gnashing my teeth and get-in-your-face angry!

Scumbag then took a long time going over her health issues, the changes in her life, my carelessness and recklessness behind the wheel and on and on and on. On cross, Ann hauled out our thick files of medical records as evidence the woman’s complaints were all ‘pre-accident’ or nonexistent. Up went the big Kinko-created charts showing dates of treatments for ailments supposedly caused by me, and charts showing some creativity on the part of medical bills. Those ‘medically prescribed’ support bras were on the chart. Ann, though careful and respectful, asked about that expenditure. A red-faced Mrs. Sexless Looney Tunes gave a moronic answer. Later, on re-cross, for whatever reason, Scumbag came back to the woman’s large hooters, asking: “Aren’t they always with you? Don’t you have them here today?” Pictures of her car, very obviously with a damaged grill only, were shown to judge and jury. We had no photos of my car. It was unscathed, so no photos were necessary. In hindsight….I only wish! We did have the deposed statement of the auto collision repairman who had seen my car, and he testified there was no damage, not a scratch, on the car.

Next up: The doofus. Who told the jury of all the mental anguish he’d suffered the past seven years. An endless list of poor-me complaints. He was also allowed to testify (because he had done research on the Internet) as to the equipment in my car. The 1993 Jeep, said he (falsely), was not equipped with airbags, so one could not have deployed in the crash (his word). Ann was finally able to get the judge to stop his comments about my car, and later she was all over the miserable fool.

We ended the first day of trial with the physician. Scumbag took him through much of the medical history and treatment of his patient (all since August 17, 1998). Ann destroyed him on cross, although she did have to fight the judge to get in the condemning letter from the doctors’ group at University of Missouri Med School. But when he stepped down from the witness stand, everyone in the court room knew he was not certified by that group to treat spinal injuries, and that he was involved in a law suit with those doctors and was using…..Scumbag as his lawyer!

The next morning we ended the trial in closing statements. Scumbag finally laid the dollar amount on the table: 75 grand for Mrs. Sexless Looney Tunes and an unspecified amount for mental anguish for Mr. Sexless Looney Tunes.

The jury—only nine of 12 have to find in favor of the plaintiff in a civil action like the one I was involved in--went to deliberate. Ann told me these blatantly fraudulent cases take little more than an hour to decide. Lunch time came and the jury was dismissed to leave and go for lunch. Ann was livid. A bad call by the judge, they should have remained in the jury room with a lunch brought in. But the judge said he wasn’t asking that county to pay for their lunches.

The two uppity women just got another slap from the judge.

Three hours later I was worried. I was fidgeting and trying to keep myself occupied by wondering what the Brew Crew was doing on that beautiful afternoon. Deciding which liquor store I’d stop at for a bottle of vodka later that afternoon. Ann was also showing some concern. Someone on that jury wanted to give those people money. But finally, it was over, a decision was reached and the jury returned.

Norm Crosby was right: “When you go into court you are putting your fate into the hands of twelve people who weren’t smart enough to get out of jury duty.”

Nine of the 12 found in favor of the Sexless Looney Tunes, awarding her $48,000.00. Once again, I was incensed, gnashing my teeth and get-in-your-face angry! They didn’t, however, show a complete loss of sanity. Mister got nothing.

As the jury filed out, the three jurors who refused to sign the guilty verdict paper came to us and apologized for the insanity shown by the other nine on the jury. It was clear to them this had been a money scam, the woman was uninjured and faking and the doctor was a quack, but argue as they did (they hung the jury for three hours), they couldn’t change the minds of their fellow jurors. One juror reportedly stated: “The money isn’t coming from the Sherer woman, insurance is taking care of her.” One of the frustrated holdouts told us the Clerk of Court, later voted jury foreman, had lied during voir dire--he was the recipient of a large monetary award from UPS some years earlier.

The apology was kind and well received by Ann and me, but we both were baffled by the outcome. We had a handful of legal mistakes we could take to appeal, but Ann was sure State Farm would not want to do that. They had, after all, been dealing with those whacked out people for seven years, and in the scope of today’s litigations, 48 grand was nothing to the insurance company. Although total cost to State Farm to deal with the Looney Tunes for seven years and litigate the matter was over 100 thousand dollars.

I lost more than a civil action that day. I lost all faith in the American legal system or the competence of a 12-person jury.

And you can damn well bet I have not been on a cell phone while driving a car in more than seven years!

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