Nothing is more frustrating than having to explain to someone who is supposed to be a trained professional and familiar with the lingo, the difference between a Nollie and Dismissed. There is clearly a defined difference. If there were not, they would not have two separate words. Explaining that to a newbie in an adjacent jurisdiction is so frustrating that you find yourself questioning how the individual figured out how and when to take the LSAT exam. Quite possibly they may have had over involved parents that did that; now, I am having to become their mother to walk them through how to prosecute the drunk driver that hit me as a pedestrian.
While I was working away on Tuesday, a first return for the criminal defendant drunk driver that hit me was taking place in the neighboring jurisdiction. Although I had diligently called the States Attorney that was said to be handling the case some fifteen or more times, I had not gotten one return call or acknowledgment. Today I got the acknowledgement from an immediate return call from a supervisor who was puzzled with confusion. I said, "It is quite simple. Not prosecuting this matter is not optional. I have a court transcript with Judge Wilcox specifically stating to the prosecutor what he expected to be coming." I took it as my responsibility to put those wheels in motion since no one in the States Attorneys office took the initiative to follow the judges orders. The commissioner was more than happy to file the charges and shocked that no one had done so prior to me spending my morning sitting before her. So now the charges are in the system and it gets shuffled to yet another paper pushing slack; and the drunk driving defendant manages to get a Nollie based on their lack of preparedness and the defense attorney crying and lying to the court. The supervisor agreed, looked into it and called me back with a, "You are correct." Of course I am correct, if I wasn't I would not have spent the mass of my day exfoliating my every nerve on the bark of your tree lined docket.
What this really means is that I get to spend hours of my day devoted to making sure these charges end up back in the system, the defendant is served again, and there is a trial. It also means that I get to go through the upset of having to tell the step by step details of the case again to yet another male who wants to know if I was "bleeding." It also means that I get to point out to them that "yes, I was hit so hard by the F150 in my abs and I went over the hood that after I fell to the ground and survived, I stood up only to have blood gush out of me and cover my shoes." I then get the joy of explaining this to yet another male that "no, it was not my period." Some people may not be sensitive about that, and there is many a guy who is not, but I am. To this day I cannot just go into the store and buy a box of tampons, I have to buy a basket full of items to surround and hide the tampon box. I would never want the embarrassment of someone seeing me actually buy tampons; gawd forbid that anyone thought that I had a normal occurrence like every other female. Nope, not me; that is my hang up. I cannot recall ever letting a serious boyfriend know about that very personal part of my life, and now somehow I have to talk about this natural female occurrence with guys that I do not know as a result of getting hit by a drunk driver. Now I am really questioning how they passed the logic portion of the LSAT.
This also means that once again I will get to go and sit in the neighboring jurisdictions' courtroom for a day or more on a cold hard bench in a room of defendants and cops and a few scarce victims. I have already had to go through this once, and now here it comes again. I get the joy of being the odd person in the courtroom. I am not a defendant and the wall of cops know that. They look at me like I am fresh meat and might be a tasty prey. While we wait for the cases to be called the boredom in the room for the officers has turned to fun. I realize that they are looking at me head to toe. I feel like by the time the docket is only a third of the way finished that any one of them could have met with a crime scene sketch artist and had a portrait made of me with specific measurements and cup size. My stomach turns because I do everything I can to avoid looking at them. I just want to have my case called, testify and be done.
The Judge then announces at the end of the morning that the docket is too long and he has to continue all matters that were not called to yet another day. To me this means that I have to come back and go through this all over again. To the defendant, he has the opportunity to hope this slips through the cracks. The officers get to see me and size me up again, so I take a mental note that I am going to have a morning transformation on that day to more of the Lillith look from Cheers.
