Dream of: 07 December 1997 "Unfair"
I was in a spacious room which reminded me of rooms where legal seminars are typically held. This was judge Abramson's courtroom and he was soon going to hold court. When I saw Abramson sitting at a long cafeteria-style table, I walked up and sat in front of him. I had something about which I wanted to talk to him before court began.
Before I could broach my subject, Abramson pulled out a file and began criticizing me for the way I had handled a legal matter in his court. In his hand he was holding an order of dismissal of one of my cases. I had requested the case be dismissed; both my signature and the judge's signature were at the bottom of the order. However, below my name, the space which was supposed to contain my bar number was empty — I had failed to put my bar number on the order.
I couldn't fathom the importance of such a slight matter. Although the judge was technically correct that my bar number should have been on the order, I didn't think it was absolutely necessary. When I asked the judge if a specific rule required my bar number be on the order, I saw he was becoming increasingly angry. I tried to point out when he signed orders which weren't submitted by attorneys, those orders didn't contain anyone's bar numbers. Obviously I was only making him angrier. He looked straight at me and growled, "I used to like you a little." Then he said he didn't like me anymore. I quickly interjected that I used to like him also. I remembered when the judge and I had first met many years ago, I had actually been fond of him. I didn't know where my relationship with him had gone sour, and I wished I could turn things back around so we could once again be on a friendly standing.
Suddenly the judge stood up and without saying another word, marched out of the room through a door behind him. I was left speechless. I also stood up and I turned around to the roomful of lawyers, wondering if anyone had seen what had just happened. I noticed Turin (a Dallas attorney), a friendly face in the crowd, and I walked over to him. He was dressed neatly in a dark blue suit, in contrast with the last time I had seen him when he had looked rather shabby. I asked him if he had heard what had just happened between Abramson and me, and he said he had. He likewise didn't seem to understand Abramson's attitude.
I told Turin I had been thinking about him lately, meaning to contact him to see how he was doing. I was thinking of starting to practice law again, and it had occurred to me that Turin and I might somehow be able to practice law together. We talked for a few minutes and then he walked on. I thought I would contact him latter.
As I stood near the door where Abramson had disappeared, I suddenly felt someone grab me by the shoulder. I whirled around to see a young man dressed in a light blue jacket had clutched me and was pushing me toward the door. I could hear gasps of people in the room as they witnessed what was taking place. I knew immediately what had happened – Abramson had sent this man to evict me from his courtroom. Since I knew Abramson had the power to do such a thing, I didn't resist, but let myself be led out into the hall by the man.
Once we were in the hall, the man didn't release me as I had expected. Instead, maintaining a firm grip on my shoulder, he led me down the hall until we came to a tiny room. He released me just before we reached the room and I walked in alone. Sitting cramped together in the room were a number of middle-aged men and women, also sitting at cafeteria-style tables. I began counting and counted ten people.
I stood silent, trying to collect my thoughts. I concluded this must be some kind of committee to which Abramson had sent me so I could be judged for something. However no one seemed to pay much attention to me, and they went on with their business as if I weren't even here. I stood for several minutes until finally I said, "Excuse me" and I asked them if someone could tell me why I was here. Someone gruffly answered, "No," and the committee continued with their business.
Becoming upset, I finally blurted out that if no one would tell me why I was here, then I was simply going to leave. As I turned to the door, one man, who seemed as if he might be the man in charge, abruptly asked me if I had been in college. I quickly told him I had graduated from law school. He paid me no further mind and he returned to his business. I protested it was "unfair" for them to be treating me this way, to not even tell me why I was there. When no one still would say anything to me, I turned and left.
As I walked back down the hall toward the courtroom, I was full of anxiety. Maybe I should have stayed in the room, after all. At least then I would have finally found out what the committee wanted with me. I felt sure they wouldn't be able to take any action against me without first notifying me, but I wasn't even completely certain of that.
When I reached the door to the courtroom, I realized it wouldn't be a good idea for me to go back in, even though I had left some of my things lying inside on one of the tables. Maybe I could find someone else to go in and pick them up for me.
Copyright 2005 by luciddreamer2k@gmail.com
