Shakespeare's Sharks

My dad always said the government screws up if you wait long enough. When they did, he made 'em pay with wasted time.

Such was the event that led my father to direct opposition with the court system of a North Georgia county.

He called them The Kremlin. It wasn't a secret. He even addressed his mail to them as The Kremlin, 75 Langley Drive.

They were not amused.

The afternoon when he received the notice for jury duty was a more pertinent example.

"I don't have time for this nonsense," he spat, irritated. "I have things to do and legitimate business to conduct. These idiots are gonna cost me money."

So he responded in written form. He told them no.

They informed him that he could either appear for jury selection or visit their fine bed and breakfast down the street at the county jail.

"How long do you reckon this is going to take?" my mother asked him.

"Depends," Dad answered.

"Depends on what?"

"How bad I piss them off once I get there," he responded. With that, he got in his senior citizen-approved compact car and headed out to breakfast.

The selection began with all the usual types: those who would do anything to get out of work, others who truly wanted to perform their civic duty and would thus be dismissed, and finally, the pool of like-minded individuals, much like Dad, who would rather be anywhere but there.

He wasn't shy about announcing it, either.

One might have thought that the letter response he'd sent was the first clue.

"I am a sole proprietor," he'd written, "My time is valuable and critical for conducting the business that provides for my family. Kindly excuse me from your festivities."

You'd have thought that would resolve the issue. But Dad didn't stop there. "I regretfully will not be available for your vulture show. Besides, if I wanted to spend all week hanging out with a bunch of buzzards, I'd just go to the zoo. It's cheaper, and all the victims are already dead."

That was likely what won him a guaranteed entry ticket.

The courtroom was like any other bureaucratic hell, with drab institutional colors, furniture designed for frustration and tears, and a merry judge to maintain sterile order as tears and confusion reigned supreme.

As it was reported, the case in question involved, ironically, a lawyer attempting to sue one of their clients or hold them liable for a botched contract. It appeared to be a sue or be sued situation. Either way, Dad was certain this was not his gig, even more than he'd been convinced before.

He would have preferred to see a duel, old-fashioned style, with powder pistols and snooty hate.

The defense attorney, appearing to be sucking on his own imaginary gumball, shuffled his papers and, in his best Matlock impression, addressed Dad, "Mr. Jones, you appear to have a proclivity and perhaps outright hostility against the legal profession. What I am concerned and confused about is when you answered question nine, 'Shakespeare said it best.' Could you please elaborate on this?"

Dad watched as the judge cracked a slight smile in anticipation.

"I wouldn't say I was hostile," he began his response, "We all know that sharks live in the ocean. That's where they belong. Willie was of the opinion that maybe we should feed all of the lawyers to 'em. Those were his ideas, not mine. I just happen to agree."

"So would you say that you dislike all lawyers?" the jilted prosecuting attorney asked.

"I'm not sure I care either way. Feeding wildlife a good and steady diet would be a good thing, I imagine. How fast can you swim?"

The judge choked off a snicker and fought not to grin. Both attorneys were less than amused. The tension was about as intense as pulling saltwater taffy.

After a minute or two of brewing discomfort, the judge looked over to Dad. It took a few attempts to get the words out. He seemed to be taking relish in the distress of the two benches.

"Mr. Jones," he paused to choke down a chortle, "Is there anything else you'd like to add to that statement?"

"Well, sure, Your Honor," Dad said in a chipper, upbeat response.

"And what is that?"

"Honestly, Your Honor, I wouldn't stop with the lawyers."

He was home before lunch.

Dad never received another jury summons from then on until the day he died.