So. Gerbson had his court date yesterday on the possession charge... I drove across town to pick him up, we ensured that he was dressed appropriately (in this county? It's AMAZING what people consider appropriate courthouse attire. More on that later) and off we went.
When we parked the car, I went through the spiel:
"no cellphone with camera?"
"No pocketknives, nail files, anything that could be considered a weapon?"
"No, do I look stupid??"
"Not with that haircut, you don't. But just checking. You never know, you could have gotten up on the stupid side of the bed this morning."
"Oh, Ha. Ha."
"So... what did your dad say to you this morning about court?"
"Don't get locked up."
Not only was it wise advice, it was a moment of foreshadowing because ladies and ge'men, my son HAD indeed gotten up on the Stupid side of the bed and we were about to make it very very publicly known.
We enter the courthouse and start to go through the security checkpoints. I put my purse on the conveyor (also... you pass at least two large signs on the door and one next to the entrance that say NO CELL PHONES WITH CAMERAS. And every single time I have been in here, I watch at least three people try to carry one in, with the ridiculous excuse of "oh, I didn't know that!") and I step through the metal detector. My son is right behind me. All of a sudden, a deputy barks "Razor blade! We got ourselves a razor blade! Blade!"
Now, who is dumb enough...?
I turn around, see the Xray display and the person dumb enough to carry a razor blade into the courthouse is none other than.... yep. My son. He's got a razor blade in his wallet.
"oh!" he says, "My bad."
You take a razor blade into court and you say "my bad????"
Now there is a cluster of pissed-off deputies milling around us and my son says "I TOTALLY did not know that was there. I'll take it back to the car."
"You will not, son, we confiscate it. Did you KNOW that's CARRYING A CONCEALED WEAPON?!?" And now we have the attention of every single person on the first floor and I have deputies glaring at me.
"Uh... I do now?"
"Son, did you know WE CAN BRING CHARGES? " The deputy barks again. "CHARGES! FOR CARRYING A CONCEALED WEAPON IN A COURTHOUSE!!"
They all glare at me and decide to simply confiscate the razor blade and get us criminals out of their sight.
"What the hell do you have a razor blade in your wallet for?!?" I want to know.
"In case I need to cut things! Like a pocket knife, you know? Except you can't carry a pocket knife!"
"You astound me."
So we take our little Walk of Shame through the hallway outside the courtrooms, stared down by all the other petty criminals and their families who might be wearing tank tops and jeans, but were classy enough NOT to carry razor blades in their wallets, and we take a seat down at the end of the hall. I am beginning to hear strains of "Alice's Restaurant" in my head...
I am wearing a suit. And panty hose. And I am the only woman, attorneys included, to be wearing pantyhose. Also there was a serious dearth of closed-toe shoes but strappy high heeled sandals were all the rage. Am I really that conservative? I honestly did not think that CLUBWEAR was something anyone could consider wearing to court. I was sooooooooo wrong.
Anyway. As I'm sitting there, one of the prosecutors rushes past on the way to the witness room. And he does a freaking double take and is staring at my legs as he slows down and and is so completely obvious that my son says "Eww! Quit staring at my mom!!". This is not a boast. This is a sad realization. Come ON buddy. I'm 40 years old, I'm greying by the day and I am not stare material. TRUST ME. I felt icky and pissed off.
Anyway, we got through the day and have to go back at the end of the month. Nice. NICE.
And we're driving back to his dad's and my son says "So... does this mean you're not buying me Patrick's mom's van?" I didn't even bother gracing that with an answer.
And he's going to stay at his dad's through the end of the school year, apparently. I've given permission for him to be withdrawn from his base school so his dad can register him at the school near his house - he'd be transferring out in two weeks anyway. We'll see how it goes. Anything's got to be an improvement.
And let me tell you what, I never wanted a cigarette more than I have this week. I was so tempted to stop at the gas station by Target, and I had my hand on the turn signal.....
..... and then I saw this pigeon* walking down the median. And I decided not to push my luck.
*I told this story already.