Spamboy

The police in our town historically do not like to bother the citizens they protect. They don’t like to intrude upon their homes. They hate to get involved in disputes between neighbors. Live and let live. And because everyone in this town is someone you encounter on a regular basis, officers feel especially awkward handing out citations for stupid laws like “animal at large.”

The younger officer who issued my mother’s citation said to her, “Now, ma’am, you can pay the fine. Or…” And at this point, his voice gained a nudge-nudge/wink-wink as he spoke, “…you can take your neighbor to small claims court.”

My mother is as sharp as a knife, and the officer’s emphasis was not lost on her. They both knew that the courts don’t like dealing with bullshit — if she went to court, it was likely that her neighbor’s complaint would be dealt with in my mother’s favor or dismissed. The next day, mom drove to the city courthouse and spoke with the attending clerk, who asked her, “OK, ma’am, did you want to pay this citation or take it to court?”

“Court, please.”

“OK, then–”

She quickly interrupted, “When can we get a jury together?”

The clerk was surprised. “Jury?!”

“Yeah,” said my mom. “I want the biggest fucking trail I can get for my tax dollars!”

I love my mother.