And Justice for Me

As told in a story that is disturbingly only three posts down even though it happened two months ago, a local asshole recently accosted me on the street, leaving me in a pool of my own blood and my own shattered ego. Fortunately, the gentleman didn't get away as he had the foresight to attack me right in front of a police officer and a paramedic. While criminal charges were not pressed against him (much to my regret after the fact), he was given a citation for disorderly conduct by the officer on the scene.

Since the incident, I've accrued almost $3,700 in medical bills thanks to what surely must have been a costly cat scan. Suffice it to say, I dearly wanted this asshole to pay for them. I managed to get in touch with the officer from that night, and he told me that I would be placed on the subpoena list for the gentleman's citation hearing should he plead not-guilty to the charges. He also told me to bring my medical bills to the hearing in the hopes that the judge would simply order him to pay my bills on the spot. I thanked him for his advice and waited to see what the asshole would do. I didn't have to wait long to find out that he was pleading not guilty.

So on Thursday morning, I traveled the sunny streets of the South Side to the district court. I'd dolled myself up to the nines - shirt, tie, black pants, gelled hair (like a felon with Magellan), and clean shoes. I was a classy motherfucker. As I walk into the waiting area, I immediately recognize the attacker sitting there. A look of panicked recognition flashes across his face that seems to say, "Oh shit! The bastard actually showed up. I'm so screwed." My attacker is dressed in an untucked gray dress shirt, green pants, and he has a mop of unkempt hair. He's also tubbier than I'd remembered. At least he shaved his beard from the last time I saw him (re: looking up from a bloody sidewalk).

We wait our turn for the judge, and we really don't have to wait long. About a dozen small cases are crammed into a single room as the judge cycles through them each in less than five minutes. Then our turn comes. My attacker looks dejected; I'm practically strutting.
JUDGE: "So we're dealing with a case of disorderly conduct. What happened here?"
The officer proceeds to provide a nicely detailed summary of the night's events (as outlined in my previous post on the matter). The judge looks at my attacker.
JUDGE: "So why did you attack this gentleman?"
ATTACKER: "Uhh... because he was holding hands with my girlfriend."
On the judge's face, a look of what I can only describe as incredulity makes an appearance.
JUDGE (with heavy sarcasm): "Oh, well that makes perfect sense. What a sane reason to beat someone on the street."
I obviously sense that the judge is on my side, and I start beaming noticeably.
OFFICER: "I believe Mr. P has medical bills here as well."
ME: "Yes I do, your honor." [Writer's Note: I didn't actually say "your honor," but in my mind, it makes me sound more like Jack McCoy]
So I hand the judge my medical bills, and he is, to say the least, appalled.
JUDGE: "Whoa! Look at these totals. Now I'm starting to think that some jail time is in order. I really don't think you've been punished accordingly."
At this stage, the judge begins a truly spectacular rant aimed at my attacker.
JUDGE: "Look, usually I understand some part of the crime. I understand a person's motives. But you just baffle me, sir! Who does this? I mean, Jesus! We live in a civilized society here. You can't just send a man to the hospital because you're jealous. Your girlfriend can hold hands with whoever she wants."
ME (butting in): "Actually it was his ex-girlfriend."
JUDGE: "Even worse!"
I was practically having a religious experience listening to this judge crush my enemy so thoroughly and righting the various wrongs of this experience. I don't know about God, but I do believe in the powers of this judge. At this point he turns to me.
JUDGE: "So what do you want out of this guy? You want his ass in jail, or you want him to pay the medical costs?"
ME: "The medical bills are most important, but the jail time would be a nice bonus."

At this point, the judge orders the attacker to pay my medical costs plus $300 for my inconvenience (a total of $4000), but he won't go to jail. His logic: if the guy goes to jail, he might lose his job. If he loses his job, he won't be able to pay the medical bills. The judge was dropping some straight Spock logic, so I couldn't disagree with that point. According to the terms laid out by Da Judge, my attacker has to pay me $500 by the end of May and then $150 every month until he pays it off. If he fails to make a payment, I contact the district office immediately, and his ass will be hauled in for contempt of court.

Added bonus: the judge issued a restraining order. He's not allowed anywhere near me. If I enter a room/building that he's in, HE has to leave. I'm tempted to start hanging around his neighborhood just to utilize this.

I left the courtroom feeling more self-satisfied than I have in a long time. This was also the only real legal victory I've ever achieved in my life, counteracting the laughably pathetic incidents involving my speeding tickets. This incident restored my faith in the American legal system - or at least in the idea of karmic justice. I was wronged by a man, and I couldn't have gotten more justice if Jack McCoy and Matlock had forced it down my throat.

So the story has a happy ending folks. My enemy has been vanquished, justice has been served, and money dollars have been awarded to me. I'm mildly suspicious that all of this good fortune only portends some sort of major disaster in the near future to balance out the scales, but that's something to worry about later. For right now, I intend to bask in the glory of my success for as long as possible.

Maybe I should call my attacker's ex-girlfriend and sleep with her just to rub salt in his wound... Nah, she's probably got three other ex-boyfriends who enjoy stabbing, shooting, and bone-crushing in their free time. I'll rest on my laurels, thank you very much.

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"Justice is a by-product of winning." -- Executive ADA Jack McCoy
(a bittersweet quote given the announcement that the original Law & Order has been canceled after 20 years on the air)

Job Search: Redux

So here we go again... round two.

Two years ago, my job search commenced. I scoured the want ads, Monster.com, websites, internet forums, and hobos on the street to find an English-related job in the corporate world. 90 job applications and 90 job rejections later, I gave up and returned to school to get my teaching certification for secondary English education. Now the day has returned. The moment of dread is upon me again.

It's time to do the job search once more.

The last time, I was casting my net wide - craning my neck to find any job under the sun that might accept an English major. Editorial assistants, proofreaders, tech writers, composition instructors, college Registrars, legal assistants, or anyone that sought the highly prized and financially valuable services of someone with a Masters in English. As expected, this search proved laughably futile. This is partially due to my own stupidity (as illustrated in glorious despair HERE) but can be mostly attributed to the simple fact that sarcastic but gorgeous English majors are a dime a dozen (a figure, incidentally, that English majors would be notoriously poor at calculating).

This time I have a more focused approach since I'm only looking for teaching positions. I've already applied to positions at two school districts and I've got four more on my To-Do List. While I'm waiting on long-term stuff, I've applied to substitute at my former student teaching site and my local school district (Woodland Hills). More stories to follow regarding my adventures as a day-to-day substitute at one of the more troublesome districts in the county.

Searching for teaching jobs bears almost no resemblance to the search for corporate jobs. For one thing, if I were willing to travel south, I'd have a job in a heartbeat; however, I'm terrified of living in a locale that's infested with scorpions, killer bees, alligators, giant flying cockroaches, and swarms of snakes. That eliminates most of the south. Maryland, Virginia, the Carolinas, and of course the great state of West Virginia are still on my radar, but my primary focus is on Western Pennsylvania, and the PA job search is its own fickle mistress. For the uninitiated, almost every district in the state subscribes to a web service called "PA Educator." The districts post their job openings, and every teacher in the state signs up for the service. Then the educators use the site to filter out the teachers they want for the position.

On the one hand, this is sort of a relief. The employers are taking it upon themselves to seek me out. That makes me feel good. On the other hand, I feel like a powerless peon with no hope of helping myself. Nevertheless, I've learned from my year of failed job searching. I'm being much more proactive this time around. PA Educator can't stop me from sending in a very thoughtful and focused letter of interest. Their ridiculous search filter won't keep me from calling the school to make a favorable impression. And really, even without all of that, having a Masters in English certainly sounds impressive when you're looking for an English teacher... or at least I hope it does. Hell, the law of averages figures that SOMEONE must be impressed by it.

Don't let anyone kid you: teaching jobs are hard to come by. Even though openings are plentiful, there are thousands of applicants interested in the same jobs as me. I've got a tremendous amount of competition, and many of them don't have a dark cloud of misfortune hanging over their heads, and they're capable of speaking a sentence without saying something incredibly stupid or insensitive.

Interesting positive side: apparently the fact that I'm male and huge is a big bonus. That intimidation factor is important to a lot of schools. Of course, being judged on my looks and my gender makes me feel like a cheap piece of meat... which is AWESOME!!! School districts, you have my permission to hire me for the most superficial and demeaning reasons imaginable. As long as the money-dollars are forthcoming, my ego will be beaten into submission through sheer force of will and daily shots of tequila.

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"I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs, alcohol and insanity to everyone... but they've always worked for me."