Purposefully Insignificant

My ego is only the size of a paper clip. Usually it is bigger than that, especially when I feel like I am worth something, which is a good percent of the time, but today, after sitting several hours with other people who have done “wrong”, I felt no bigger than a small piece of wire designed to hold papers together. I was in a place where I really don’t ever want to be, in a place where when I have been there, even for something that is considered “doing my civic duty”, I just don’t want to be there. This place is the courthouse. It doesn’t matter what courthouse, any one will do, but this time I was in the Chattanooga City Courtroom of Judge Russell Bean.

I was there because I was in an accident in September. It was simply that, an accident. I didn’t see the person in my right-hand lane, and pulled over on them, causing damage to both mine and his vehicle. No one was hurt, thank goodness, but I was cited for “cutting in” and it being a citation that was not one I could simply pay, I had to appear in court. Like I said, I hate going to court. The only other time I had to appear in court was nearly 10 years ago for a simple misdemeanor. Long story, but a little puissant town in eastern Tennessee conducted a money making roadblock that netted them quite a purse that weekend, which ended up with me “donating” over $500 to them, and putting a misdemeanor charge on my record. No big deal, but I still hated going.

Today, I had to sit and listen as person after person went up before the judge to explain what had happened and then await judgment. Now, I understand that a judge doesn’t become a judge from being stupid. They are where they are because usually they have earned that position and that respect. But I have sat in for jury duty, and even sat in the back of a few trials just to see what went on. I have seen judges hand down sentences with swiftness and seen plaintiffs try and talk their way out of things where I am thinking “You are so guilty, why even bother?” I have also seen judges act like they have never done wrong and try to make those people standing in front of them the size of, well…the size of paper clips.

Today, Judge Bean was calm and cool. Most of the people appearing before him were young drivers, and most of them had been cited for following too closely and for rear-end collisions. Most of them got off with warnings and driver’s education classes. I got to see them explain their situations and I was able to learn from observing more of what I would expect when it was my turn to be standing where they were. It came down to what ended up being the person ahead of me who was next. He had clipped another person (who was also there on their own behalf) who was in the middle of a right-hand turn. They had started making their turn; he had gotten impatient and tried to go around them, when they had to stop to let someone else get out of their way before continuing on in their turn. He ended up scraping the corner of their vehicle and busting out a tail light. Judge Bean recognized him as being in front of him earlier in the year. He had reduced the sentence of speeding down to keep points off of his license that time. This time his mercy was not as lenient. The plaintiff ended up having to pay the full fine plus court costs.

Then it was my turn. They called my name, and I made my way up in front of the judge. I had been slowly getting myself ready the whole time I had been waiting there. I saw how he had made judgments and how he was giving people second chances, especially if they had never had been cited before. This is where I felt like I would be given a second chance as well. Aside from the little money making incident nearly 10 years ago, I had never been issued a citation for any traffic incident. Even so, standing before him, my heart was pounding. I didn’t want to be there, I was nervous as hell, but I had everything in order. I had proof of insurance, a statement that showed how the other party had been satisfied, and any other papers I thought I might need all held together with a little paper clip.

I was nervous, that’s for sure. But it really was for nothing. He asked if I had any other citations and I told him that I had never even gotten a simple parking ticket. His assistant on her computer re-affirmed the fact that I didn’t have a record. He seconded the fact and set aside my fine for six months good behavior, plus court costs. Then he did what I thought he might do. Assume something. He said that I had a good driving record, but that I must have been dodging bullets for all these years. I gritted my teeth and bit my tongue. I have most certainly not been dodging bullets for my whole driving life. I am a good driver. I haven’t had “safe driver” on my driver’s license for decades for being a bad driver. I don’t have low insurance rates for not being a careful driver. I drive a vintage vehicle which I prize and most certainly don’t want to damage, much less hurt someone else’s car with it. I drive with my headlights on even in the daytime just so the other idiots driving can see me as well as I can see them. All these thoughts were running through my head, but I bit my tongue and felt myself shrinking and curling up. I held my thoughts inside my head, thanked him, gathered up my papers and made my way out. I looked at the paper clip holding my papers together and thought, “Hi. Now I know how you feel. You are a good piece of work. You have a purpose, but you are small and insignificant. Your shape is such that is designed for the purpose you are made for, but you are forced into that shape by something bigger and stronger than you are. You are nothing.”

Even though my fine was dropped and even my court costs deferred for a period of time, I was irked that I was made to feel like I was lucky enough to have been “not caught” for all these years. That I have been driving like a maniac and finally brought to justice. I am not a bad driver. I know that. The judge does not. He does not live my life. But in the same respect, I don’t live his either. I don’t have to sit up there and listen to every Sally Sobstory and Harry Hardluck try to talk their way out of situations where they are obviously in the wrong. I don’t have to throw decisions at people while not knowing their situations in life at the moment. I don’t envy those that do. It has to be a hard job.

Even back nearly ten years ago, at the time when I donated that money to a little town in eastern Tennessee, I knew that the police officer that was driving me to the holding center was only doing his job. The one behind the desk recording the paperwork was only doing his job. The one taking the pictures for the “mug shot” was only doing his job. There were bigger, stronger, jumbo-sized paper clips above them, and most certainly smaller, weaker mini-paper clips beneath them. Each one did what they were supposed to do.

I got back to my bus; my poor damaged bus, and sat in it for a while before starting him up and driving home. I sat in there thinking about how we all have a purpose in life, whether it is handing down judgments on people, enforcing the rules that we have created, or abiding by those rules in order to avoid having judgment handed down. I ran my finger over the shape of that paper clip and felt just like it. Bent out of shape, small and insignificant, but doing what I was designed to do. Do my job, hold things together (loves, life, family, jobs, mentor) and be proud to serve my purpose. I may not be the all important judge that most likely earned that position. I may not be the police officer that makes sure that the rules that are in place are followed. But I am the person who does what I do and I try to do that to the best of my ability, the best way that I see fit, the way that I know how. And I am going to keep on doing just that. Maybe one day I will be the size of a jumbo paper clip instead of just a small one.