…or how I stopped worrying and learned to love my Gilette Five-Blade.
I had a prelim in Santa Rosa yesterday morning. There's no way to get there from here for a morning hearing without spending the night, so I did. I flew up to Oakland yesterday, rented a car (woohoo Hertz Gold with no waiting! Woohoo onboard nav system!) and enjoyed a spectacular drive over the bridge and up through Sonoma during the golden hour.
Then, rather than preparing for the prelim, I spent a few hours walking through Santa Rosa, enjoying the approximately 200000 antique shops, indulging in sake and spider rolls at a sushi joint, and eventually falling asleep watching dull TV in my hotel room.
In the morning, I discovered that I had left my electric razor in my car at LAX. I went down to the lobby and asked for some of their free courtesy toiletry stuff. They gave me a little disposable razor and shaving cream.
This will be a test, I thought. Is the expensive Gilette Super Manly Five-Blade Power Device thing I used worth it, or is it all hype?
It's worth it. I carved the hell out of my face. The disposable was made of recycled pot metal or something and I looked as if I had been shaved by Jack the Ripper.
I made do and hurried to court. The prosecutor put the prelim on through an officer instead of calling direct witnesses — what they call "doing a 115" here, after the anti-crime ballot measure that lets them do prelims by hearsay.
There's not much you can do at a prelim. I was hacking away at this officer trying to establish that he hadn't really talked to all the witnesses (as required by 115) and was just faking it from reading their reports (technically not allowed) when he interrupts me.
Officer: Dude, you're bleeding.
I didn't quite hear the second half of his comment, so:
Me: Your honor, I'd appreciate it if you would instruct the witness not to call me "dude."
Judge: Counsel, you are, in fact, bleeding.
Officer: On your tie.
I look down, and touch my chin. My hand comes away red. Apparently in doing the chin-stroking-thoughtful-cross bit I blew through the weak scabs and reopened all my wounds from shaving.
Me: Oh. Perhaps the court reporter will let me have one of those tissues.
Judge: Please. You're bleeding on my carpet.
Officer: And on your tie.
Me: Ah. Thanks.
And I complete the examination, soaking through four Kleenex in the process.
Naturally the judge finds probale cause and binds my guy over for trial, as I had predicted — though he at least encourages me to take an arcane legal issue up with the trial judge.
Client: Well. That went well.
Me: I have nothing to offer you but blood, toil, tears, and sweat.
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