CHAPTER 33
(WILL THE PLAINTIFF PLEASE RISE)
cause# 49K06-1808-SC-003848
I didn't think I would make it. Truth was, I "wouldn't" have made it had the pizza shop down the street bailed me out at $5.00 an hour. Plus tips of course. Lampeter PA had proved that despite all financial struggles, they still managed to take care of the pizza delivery guy. I felt more useful to people delivering a nice steamy hot pizza from Brooklyn Pizza than I ever did driving those stupid big rigs. People actually smiled when they saw me ambling up their porch steps hoping that their doorbell cams didn't catch me stumbling all over their flower gardens in the dark. I wasn't making enough money to survive but felt I was getting liked around town offering something warm and tasty verses some loud Jake brakes blaring in their ears. In fact, some skinny rich MILF on the east side of town was so happy to see me at her doorstep with a pizza that she held onto my arms an extra few seconds after holding it almost as if she didn't want me to go away. I didn't know if she was flirty or what but that was the most play I had gotten all summer long. I also came to the conclusion that maybe she just assumed I was a big money man that a grown ass man like myself could take on a high school job in the first place as most men my age were stuck with families to raise and could only dream about being a pizza delivery guy.
Before I left for Indy the police were sure to question my boss. He was a Hispanic dude about my same age and I had caught him several times getting questioned by the police. I had drawn my own conclusions about my boss. I speculated that his past too was a bit colorful and owed the police all kinds of favors. He was bilingual of course and those have always been the ones to pan out to have quite a lot of connections in society. I made sure to be privy about my personal life around my pizza boss. I don't trust people that go to great lengths to befriend police. My little brother of course has been a Poh-Poh for many years but I often keep him in the dark about stuff all the time. I used to hide firecrackers under his pillow when I was a kid because mommy went through my belongings ALL the time.
One day I forget to retrieve my black-cats and the next thing ya know mommy was giving Tiger Bear candy bars for ratting out big bro. Fortunately my folks pulled him out of public school just in time because I think he thought the principal was going to give him candy bars after ratting out some jocks with little marijuana baggies. That one was really a close call but he did better in private school and his StarBucks loitering crowd.
09/18/2018 Warren County Small Claims Court IN
I had made sure to drive all 650 miles in one clip. The turnpike would have been a hundred miles closer but going over the mountain saved me more in tolls than the gas. I of course knew that as a trucker. I had pulled in late last night and stayed at a hotel just several miles down the road. My boss at the pizza shop had given me two days off to come out to Indy to deal with Mr. Paul. Rob Peter to pay Paul? Heck no! I was not named Peter and this Bob had no intentions of letting the sandwich interrupter rob Big Bad Bob!
I wasn't joking when I told Celadon that my procurement bill box was so big it was on wheels. Not only did I have a full travelers suitcase on wheels full of bills I even had many folders in my black leather Kohrs satchel my first brother-in- law had handed down to me ten years ago. It looked so professional and I knew the judge would be impressed at my name brand leather satchel. I was also sure to wear black with a nice silver tie. I looked ready to plop a ten thousand dollar wager at a VIP craps table. Dress to impress I guess one could say. My first brother-in-law always taught me that. He said when his Grand Pap would be at his lowest and out of work he still insisted on dressing nice and people respected him at the bars and still bought him drinks.
Mr. Paul was not dressed nice. Mediocre to say the least. But then again he wasn't dressed sloppy either. Polo shirt and blue jeans. I figured that. I never thought that I would ever in my life enter a court room and not have everyone look at me when the Courts would say "Will the defendant please rise!". This all seemed rather amusing to me. Being in a courtroom and not being the one in trouble was definitely a first for me.
Warren County small claims court barely even looked like an official courtroom. If you ask me it looked more like a small middle school that had been shut down. The police barracks was a stone throw away but the court building looked to be on a very scant budget. The wooden podium looked like it came from a garage sale and we had folding chairs and folding tables. I almost felt like demanding my court filing fees back and going home. But there was of course a big catch to all of this.
Spencer Cohn. Unemployment specialist Mr. Spencer Cohn. I hadn't hired him just yet but I could still hear the confidence in his voice when I was concerned about that "box of Cuban cigars" getting slid under the Judge's desk before the hearing. Clearly I thought if Celadon could so easily have the UC board in Harrisburg wrapped around their dirty little fingers then surely it would be easy for them to bribe the judge to make "lil Blakey" go away.
"Oh no, no. There is none of that. It doesn't work like that."
Said Mr. Spencer weeks ago.
I'm not a detective. I would never compare myself to having the skills of Columbo. My sleuthing skills however are usually spot on but are delayed 99% of the time. There was a lot of confidence in his voice. Too much confidence in his voice. "No it's not like that." he had stated matter-of-factly.
I had the information I needed and I took Spencer's advice on keeping details of the case privy from the Judge Mathis Show. I had received an invitation in the mail for the show but Spencer assured me to wait and see if they had money to offer me first. I had written a ten page letter to the Judge Mathis Show but luckily sobered up the next morning before I could mail it. All I needed was a fair Judge that could add and subtract and I was quite confident I could sue the pants off of Celadon. The assurance of Spencer assuring me that Judges weren't corrupt was going to be my golden ticket. I was going to have victory over these Indy harassers right on their own turf! Mr. Paul was finally going to get the opportunity to show off his fancy calculator that took off ten percent off everybody's load assignments.
I walked into the courtroom building wearing my fake Rolex and my black leather SteamPunk hat I had won in Atlantic City. I wanted to wear the hat during court but did my research prior and learned that a doctors note was required to do that. Weeks ago my brother had told me that a dude tried wearing a hat in a District Justice courtroom and the judge made him remove it. I didn't need the hat for show. I needed the hat for emergency bailouts should some wild interrogations breakout and I could just lower my head to hide my facial expressions. Genius idea right? Wrong. I had nothing to hide. The evidence I had against this company was so strong I couldn't for the life of me figure out why they hadn't settled after the demand letter. Did they think I was bluffing?
Beth sure didn't. She knew I was the real deal and so did some of the other girls in there. The Walmart runs were separate from the payroll and Beth was in charge of it. I knew she had seen my big massive bill box on 5/16/2018 and was not about to second guess herself. Several days after I quit she called me and saw to it personally I got back paid around $500.00 for that separate debt. She must have remembered I still had her signature promising to pay it back.
I walked into the courtroom lobby and took a seat aloof off to the left and kept my hat on. I wanted to hire Spencer to take care of all this but I couldn't for two reasons.
Reason #1) I had signed paperwork agreeing not to be reimbursed for attorney fees.
Reason #2) I had exuded way too much confidence in my voice to Spencer when I stated "I will be getting my money back" and was concerned he may deem it a threat.
I was feeling nervous just toting in a leather satchel as I feared the courts might assume it was a bomb. I was having flashbacks from "A Flagger's Journey" when Officer Sallada accused me of having "make shift" bombs on my person after he arrested me for trying to pick up my last paycheck along with owed wages. My rap sheet was just a key stroke away for anyone to look at so I struggle with paranoid delusions a lot. There are times when security cameras exacerbate my paranoia and there are times when I'm so paranoid about "them" that I insist on cameras watching me so there's proof on my behalf that they're out to get me.
I took my seat in the lobby and stared at a guy sitting across from me all dressed up like me. Everybody else in the lobby area looked dressed like somebody had interrupted their Jerry Springer and there wasn't time to hunt down their sneakers so the "fetch the newspaper" slippers will have to do.
I heard the door swing open and Mr. Paul walked into the Lobby with an older man that was tall and definitely looked like an educated attorney. I nearly shit myself. So the letter a couple days ago was real? Paul wasn't forging letters on his computer and imitating a deceased attorney?
Because of all the weirdness going on I was delirious about the case from the door. Many of my emails I had sent out were getting remotely deleted somehow. But if that wasn't enough the thing that had me bothered the most was a video footage somehow had been cut in half of a voicemail I had of Paul promising to pay back the money. It didn't matter of course because from the door I was able to use another device to record the voicemail in its entirety. Even some of my voice mails had magically deleted themselves from my phone that I had not deleted. I really wanted to keep the one of my dispatcher praising my work and telling me what a wonderful job I was doing. Everyday I wish the government hadn't deleted that one because it was so funny how she praised my work but then questioned my pay raise at the end of it like as if she was contemplating on jumping into a big rig herself perhaps.
The bailiff came out into the lobby and told us all the proceedings were about to start and we could enter the courtroom. When we entered the courtroom Mr. Paul and his purported friends sat behind me. I could hear Mr. Paul making small talk about casinos and slot machines. It did seem kind of weird that his topic was on gambling but yet he never struck me as the gambling type. I removed my $340.00 Steam Punk hat and placed it on the folding chair next to me. As I could feel him breathing down my neck I couldn't help but wonder how long it would take for Mr. Paul to notice the cut out piece of pantyhose inside my hat. I knew for sure it would be misconstrued somehow as possibly having a feminine side when in reality it was meant to provide more room for my massive brain in lieu of the very thick sweat brow piece I had removed.
I opened my black $40 leather binder I had purchased at the Barnes and Noble and plucked out one of five spreadsheets I had made on my computer. The spreadsheet proved I was still owed $1687.56 despite the company ALREADY back paying me $696.30 AFTER I had resigned.
I turned around in my chair and tried to pass Mr. Paul my spreadsheet.
"Here you might need this." I said.
Mr. Paul kept his arms folded and refused to proffer his hand out to grab it.
"I don't need it." He stated.
He was sure to exude lots and lots of Mr. Paul confidence when he said it as if he had the utmost intentions of seeing to it personally I not procure so much as a single penny. I didn't question it and placed the spreadsheet back into my binder. I would eventually get my ten minutes of fame and the Judge would insist he take a peek at it. I could hardly wait to present to the Judge the spreadsheet "Mr. Paul" had put together with falsified HUB information that it could easily prove had been falsified. I knew my hoarding of paper documents would net me money once again like it had years ago in my motorcycle accident.
We were all suddenly interrupted. "All Rise!" Shouted the bailiff.
Forget a doctors note for the hat. I needed a doctors note for this "All Rise" workout. Did these people not know I was a Billy Big Rigger used to sitting on my ass all day? What's wrong with these people? I thought to myself.
We all stood up and while doing so I quickly flipped my Steam Punk hat over so no more Peeping Toms could speculate my pantyhose invention. One of the mechanics in Celadon had already made the comment "Well I'm not trying to blow wind up your skirt but..." I snapped out of my hindsight when an African American Judge possibly a few years younger than me walked into the courtroom. I was in complete shock. Reality was setting in for me that I myself was turning into an old man. Evidently I hadn't set foot in a courtroom in a very long time because I was used to dealing with very old judges with twenty plus years over me that hated my guts. This black man looking a few years younger than me was going to be a big game changer for sure.
The bailiff read off names of people with other cases that got to go first. This was kind of like getting to watch Judge Mathis for free except that we had a junior Judge Mathis. I looked over to my left and noticed a woman in a dress with a clipboard and a pen. She too appeared younger than me and insisted on watching my facial expressions while I observed the Judge's rulings with tenants getting tossed out for unpaid rent. I didn't know any of these people in Indiana but was very much curious about the woman not paying the least little bit of attention to the Judge but rather INSISTING on watching my reactions to the small case hearings. Each and every five to ten minute hearing was the same. Unpaid rent. No job to pay the rent or just started new job and getting caught up with owed Comcast bills instead. Why was this woman in the crowd insisting on watching my reactions? Was I getting recruited to be a small claims Judge possibly one day? I knew if that were the possibility it would be downright funny watching me swing that gavel around. I'd crack jokes while in the bench for good measure just to keep people's attention. Perhaps I would make a good Judge some day because I'd be absolutely sure to trust NOBODY. The cops, employers, even the Notary itself, nobody would gain my trust from the door. I'd turn down ALL City Hall meetings and my inner circle of friends would consist of the garbage man and the manager at the Laundry Mat. I certainly was no sucker to attorneys and police officer's credentials bypassing lack of credibility. EVERYBODY would have to prove EVERYTHING.
None of the defendants appeared to be winning any of their small claims cases. Unfortunately the pajama crowd couldn't afford to print at Staples to counter the claims against them from their Land Lords. Obviously because the Unemployment agency had left me in purgatory I myself was out over $5,000.00 in bills and expenses due to no income since mid July other than a few hundred bucks from the pizza shop down the street I had been working for only a couple of weeks. It was exciting to know that my landlord would have to cough up around $150.00 in court filing fees and miss a day of work to throw my Big Rompy Trucking ass into the streets ha ha. Even with the pizza job I was still losing a lot of money each week as I refused to drink generic coffee or start using Sundance laundry detergent in lieu of Tide. Even though I had been a bachelor for decades I knew eventually some hussy down on her luck would want to burrow her tears into my shoulder and the last thing I wanted was for her to hear a slight crunching sound from generic laundry detergent that hadn't fully washed out of the fabric.
The time ticked on as the proceedings went on and I was getting pissed off that I had to go last it was looking like.
Hadn't my court papers stated my hearing would be at 08:30am? Didn't I still have 650 miles to drive back home to my apartment? Did I really have the extra money for another hotel room and miss another day of delivering pies?
The pajama crowd started to dwindle and I was not liking this. I was fully prepared to sing on this trucking company like a little birdie just popping out on a beautiful Easter Sunday. By the time it would be my turn there would be no audience left other than me and Mr.Paul! Would we get a sandwich break if they couldn't get to us until lunchtime?
I had done my homework prior to coming out to Indy. I had gotten a lot of pointers from watching YouTube videos on how to have success with a small claims hearing. I had taken as much as twelve pages of notes just from watching the helpful videos. Where is my arbitration? Why is Mr.Paul and the corporate attorney not pulling me aside looking to strike a deal? I was getting immensely confused as the losing pajama crowd dwindled. I wasn't even sure at this point my hearing would even take place today.
I finally heard the bailiff shout my last name and it scared me that he pronounced it correctly as every stranger tends to pronounce it "Steddler" instead of acknowledging the "I" in "Steidler".
My last name got read on the paper aloud. "Steidler! You're up next!"
I approached the Plaintiff table for the very first time in my life. I handed Honorable Judge Graves my spreadsheet and just as I did an African American female in a pretty yellow dress placed a hand out in front of me as if to stop me. Mr. Paul and his company assigned attorney looked as though they had wanted to play this waiting game out until the very last second.
The mediator stopped me before I could present more evidence before the Judge.
She was smiling but not at Mr. Paul or his attorney.
"Mr. Steidler. Can we talk a minute?"
All the pieces had come together all at once. This was my guardian angel here to remind me about one VERY, VERY important thing.
I had forgotten to bring along my therapy horsey stick. I had forgotten to bring along Mr. Ed!