So, I go over to court yesterday to do a guilty plea for one of my serial rapist clients. Of course, the DA isn't there, the sheriff isn't there, and just like every day, it's all about hurry up and wait. What else is a girl to do but pull out her knitting and make good use of her time? So, I'm sitting at the bar of the court, knitting my Rowan shrug, the one that will not be photographed, and in troops 20 fifth grade students from some elementary school somewhere. I raised my right eyebrow at the court staff. I put my knitting down, and pulled aside the teacher. I explained to her that I was doing a guilty plea on a serial rapist, that this plea was about the rape of an 11 year old runaway, that there would be a reading of the facts into the record - lots of penis's and vagina's floating in the air - and well, it might not be such a good idea for her students to sit through it, and wouldn't it be a better idead to go find a nice little drug case somewhere else?
But we were told to come here, she says, and points to her schedule, which resembled a movie theater time table - now showing in Room 702, Waiver Trial in Progress. Well, I said, that's not right, we have a plea, and as I've explained it's really inappropriate for children. Well, I was told to come here. Yes, I know, look, I'll check out a few other courtrooms, why don't you go down to 706 - it's just a misdemeanor room. Well, I was told to come here.
Alrighty . . . I think this gives new meaning to no child left behind.