After being hit by a semi truck last week and spending the last few days in New Jersey dealing with super-fun things like insurance agents and police officers and lawyers, I was kind of excited to arrive back in Cleveland. I already had my whole week planned: Mostly it involved sleeping. (I really, really like sleeping). I thought I'd also drink some wine, catch up on my reading, do some writing, think about important worldly matters -- like whether my hair looks better curly or straight (I'm finding myself unusually torn on this issue).
As I headed down the hallway toward my apartment, I was feeling something I haven't felt in a week: peace. contentedness. optimism. Then I noticed an envelope taped to my door. "Oh," I thought, eyes tearing. "Someone got me a glad-you're ok card." How totally sweet!! Maybe there was a gift certificate inside!!! I skipped to the door.
Instead of a hundred dollar itunes card, I found ... a subpoena! I had to report to federal at 10:30 am on Monday to testify in a federal trial!
Well, that's almost as fun as twenty free nonstop hours of Enya.
About a year ago, I wrote a story about LaMont Lockhart,the black police chief of Woodmere who accused Woodmere's black mayor of purposely discriminating against white employees. The mayor agreed to talk with me for the article. Then, after the article came out, the mayor apparently felt it wasn't necessary to talk to anyone else. So she didn't. And now the prosecutors apparently thought it would be excellent if I were to relay that original conversation to the jury.
Joy.
Curly. Most definitely curly.
Posted by: Hokey Larkson | December 01, 2008 at 11:48 PM