Took the train into town again. Never easy to find parking in the city, it costs more than dinner at a restaurant, and rush hour in the morning is anything but.
When I got to Vinny’s office, he had books and boxes laying everywhere. There were three boxes stacked onto a rolling cart with the name “WhiteCoat” on them.
Vinny and Louise both looked like they’d had a Mongo expresso with a Red Bull chaser. I thought I was nervous. Louise repeatedly went into these foot tapping fits. I couldn’t tell whether it was subconscious or whether she was doing it to irritate Vinny.
When Vinny saw me, he began shuffling through papers on his desk. After a few seconds, he found the one he was looking for and handed it to me. “It’s a bunch of B.S., but I have to officially give you this letter.”
The letter was from plaintiff’s attorney and addressed to me. It demanded that I settle the case for my full policy limits of $1 million or else he will go after my personal assets. I suddenly became very angry. I knew it was part of the game, but I just thought he had a lot of balls making a demand like that with the quality of the case he had against me.
“I’ll take my chances,” I told him.
“I figured as much,” he responded.
Louise was still doing the rhythmic foot tapping thing and then she began periodically checking her watch between taps while Vinny was going through stuff on his desk. Finally, in obvious frustration, she says “we have to go.”
During the walk to court, I got to be a firsthand witness of the ravages that caffeine can cause on the human body. Louise was developing a facial tic, was walking with her knees pulled together, and was already calling some imaginary dibs on the bathroom in the court house: “There better not be anyone in there.” Be wary, o courthouse bathroom dwellers … this woman is desperate. She has a chewed up pen in her pocket and isn’t afraid to use it!
Vinny was literally stuttering when he talked.
Both of them pepper me with more random “do’s and dont’s.”
Do not talk about the case in the elevators. You never know if a juror might be in the elevator with you. In fact, do not say anything within three blocks of the courthouse. We were already breaking that rule.
Do not wear flashy clothing. Fortunately, I don’t own flashy clothing. The best I can do is a couple of suits on the 2 for 1 rack at JC Penney’s every couple of years. Besides, it’s a little late for that little piece of advice, isn’t it?
When introduced to the jury, stand up, smile, say good morning, and sit back down. And make eye contact with all of the jurors. All of them.
Don’t drink in front of the jury — they don’t have a pitcher of water in front of them and may get mad at you if they’re thirsty. It will also make you have to go to the bathroom more often. Just suck on breath mints instead.
I kept walking and nodding my head.
Getting into the courthouse meant being scanned for dangerous objects. No one mentioned that one to me, either. They confiscated my pocket knife and my nail clippers, because obviously I’m going to have a nervous breakdown at trial, disarm multiple armed deputies, and commit mass murder by cutting everyone’s nails too close and giving them intractable paronychia. However, Louise was able to flash some card to the guard and was able to cut the line and enter the court with her peptostreptococcus-infested pen of death. The rest of the day better not go this way.
When Vinny opened the courtroom door, it appeared like a movie set. Projectors, wires, computers, and monitors were everywhere. This isn’t Kansas anymore. Butterflies immediately hit my stomach.
Everyone hung their coats in a conference room behind the desk at which the defendants were supposed to be seated. A court reporter was setting up her machine in front of the witness stand. Vinny and Louise walked into the back of the court and told me to sit in my chair.
I could hear people arguing in the judge’s chambers. Voices became loud sometimes. Part of me wanted to walk back to the door to eavesdrop … er, um … look for a bathroom. I remained seated, instead opting for a game of solitaire on my cell phone.
It became quiet for a second, then I heard someone, presumably the judge, loudly and firmly say “DE-NIIIED.” I wonder which side lost that argument. Hopefully not mine.
A few minutes later, the plaintiff and her daughter walked into the courtroom. They didn’t even look at me. Instead, they walked across the room and took their seats at the table next to me. I looked up from my game and glanced over to their table. They were both staring at me and turned their heads away in unison as soon as I looked their way. Can only imagine what they were whispering back and forth about me.
Then the bailiff sauntered into the courtroom and sat on the railing separating the court from the spectators. He was heavy set and as old as the hills. The weight from his keys and gun pulled his pants down further than they should have been, so part of his shirt was untucked. His looks kind of reminded me of one of those old pictures of Alfred Hitchcock. He had a gruff voice and barked orders at everyone as soon as they opened the doors to the courtroom.
“Put your coats in there.”
“Take your briefcase off the desk.”
“Turn off your cell phone.”
He walked back to a doorway leading behind the judge’s bench and began talking loudly with another bailiff. Everyone else was whispering. I wondered if he realized how scared the people sitting in the courtroom were. There is this tremendous fear of doing something wrong that seizes your whole body and keeps you from being yourself. Obviously, he doesn’t have that fear. Probably a lot like what people feel when they come to the ED to see me, I suppose. I wondered how he would feel in an emergency department with me snapping the glove over my hand and opening up a packet of lubricant.
All of a sudden, ol’ Hitch yelled out “Hah! Metro General settled out!”
What a jerk. What if the jurors heard that? Would they think that there was guilt because one of the parties settled out? I felt like saying something. Either that or clipping his nails too short, but they confiscated my only weapon. Curses.
There was still lots of arguing in the back. The jury was supposed to be in the room 30 minutes ago. I bet that a lot of them were thinking that they would get lucky and get sent home early for the day. Those words sent out a cheer in the room when I was in jury duty. I glanced over at the plaintiffs again. They both were sitting there staring straight ahead at the wall with their hands folded.
I was sick of solitaire. I settled into a game of backgammon.
(read previous posts in this series here)
Ach!!!!
That was ten minutes of torture, and then you ended up not telling us a thing! What a writer!
(Wipes sweat from brow.)
Carry on.
Man, you ratcheted up the tension! I’m betting based on that “DENIED” ruling that the plaintiff is going to come out and nonsuit the case, and you’re going to get to go home.
I can’t wait for the next one.
Really, Matt? If the case is non-suited in Part 8, WhiteCoat’s going to find it pretty difficult to stretch this series to the promised 25 posts. Do judges in your jurisdiction customarily entertain crucial or dispositive motions on the morning of trial?
As a newbie embarking on her 5-year residency journey, fresh from talks by Risk Management, this journey is increasingly hitting home. Been lurking for a while–decided to show face.
Here’s to fingers cross for a good outcome.
Undoubtedly the ‘deniied’ was the judges’ reaction to Vinny’s request that the case be dismissed summarily. (a typical routine request, like a CBC).
Where is part 8?
Not quite. You’ll see in Part 8 … which will be posted later this week.
If they’re at the beginning of trial, then summary judgment has been denied. Next opportunity for a dismissal comes at the end of plaintiff’s case.
The ‘usual’ motions right at the beginning of trial involve one side’s attempts to kick out another’s evidence and experts. It’s hard to see, though, why a judge would get worked up about those, that’s just standard business.
I’m guessing it was a motion to stay, a motion for the judge to recuse, a motion for an interlocutory appeal, something unusual. Maybe a motion to amend plaintiff’s complaint to include punitives or a new theory of damages.
Before everyone hops up and down about plaintiff’s lawyers doing all these motions right at the time of trial, realize (1) it’s how the system is set up and (2) defense lawyers do it just as often.
It’s part of why I like practicing in an urban jurisdiction: the volume of cases compels the judges and court system to take a hard line on gaming the system. If you “find” documents at the last minute or the like, odds are the court will preclude everything and trash your case for the stunt.
As serious as this stuff is, you still manage to make me laugh with the way you write certain things. We can just picture these people. You really should write for a living too.
Wow – you really are keeping me in suspense. While the subject matter is serious, you manage to to “keep it real”. You are a terrific writer.
Is this case over or are you living it day by day right now???
Sue,
It was stated in an earlier part that the trial is over now. Blogging about a trial that is going on (as a participant obviously) is a horrible idea, as a blogger by the name of “Flea” found out…
Gosh..I’ve been MIA too long! I still have to read trial FIVE!
Dude. You’re killin’ me.
Memo to Innocent Self: Always file a cross claim against the other defendants. That way, if any wants to betray clinical care, they need my permission to settle and to get out. Or, they need to pay me big time for their confessed carelessness. Or, they need to do the right thing, defend clinical care against the land pirates. The land pirate learns only from pain.
Another cliffhanger….. As Sue said, you really are a terrific writer.
I do wish you’d reconsider and give us more than just a couple posts a week….your writing style is great!
I’m reminded of a piece I read many years ago in the NY Post, probably by Pete Hamill. Not sure if this is a true story or fiction, although with the Post you never know anyway… A certain mobster (forgot which) was about to go on trial. Last thing the lawyer said to him, day before the trial, “One more thing, you gotta do something about your suit.”
Mobster says “What’s the matter with my suit? This suit cost me a thousand dollars!”
Lawyer says “That’s exactly the problem, you’re about to go in front of a jury of twelve guys who make less than your tailor. Do me a favor, go down to Alexander’s and buy a suit off the rack.”
Next day the mobster is a no-show at the trial. The lawyer wangles a postponement, calls the guy at home and asks “Where the hell were you?” The guy says, “Well, I went over to Alexander’s, and took a look at what they had on the rack…” “Yeah?” “…I’d rather go to jail.”
[...] in White Coat’s saga of his malpractice case [Emergency Physicians Monthly, parts seven and [...]
You’re so funny WC!
However… I felt your mounting tension.
I think it is stupid how everyone in court has to play this game of pretend… so as not to influence the jury against you.
Are people really that petty and small minded to vote guilty because you could quench your thirst before they do? I mean… I might be a bit jealous… but I sure as heck wouldn’t hold it against you and vote to have all your assets taken away. That’s surely just a tad harsh. ?
I take it back. You’re not funny.
You’re HILARIOUS! Sorry I am laughing during presumably one of the most painful times of your life… but it is the way in which you present your story.
Suffice it to know..that if we ever have occasion to meet… I will be wearing steel reinforced closed toe (designer)shoes… and gloves.
I’m just sayin.
Love the snapping of the glove/lube thing. that must’ve been a power shifting thought.
Superb piece. Tension’s incredible. Fortunately for me I’m late to the game and can go straight to #7.
One thing you did do is draw a picture in my head of the opposing counsel in a white suit and monocle, with a white kitty, chewing on his little finger:
“One MILLION dollars!!!”
OK, so I’m an idiot, but it made me laugh. Off to #7.
I meant #8, obviously.