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)

I Pity the April Fool

Go ahead, JP! You should hit on that girl at the bar. What's the worst that could happen?

Gather round, readers. I'm going to explain the definition of the term "worst case scenario."

April 1, 2010 - 6:30 pm
My Pitt class ended early on Thursday night, so my fellow English teachers in training grab a drink at a nearby bar. We're in high spirits (and enjoying spirits, as well) as we look forward to the brief holiday break.

April 1, 2010 - 8:00 pm
Most of the crowd leaves after an hour and a half, but one other guy and I decide to head off to a different bar for a little while. The week had been a long and difficult one, so I was happy to relax at a watering hole and enjoy myself. We spend a great deal of time discussing the trials of the single life and the various idiosyncrasies of our ex-girlfriends.

April 1, 2010 - 9:00 pm
As the night wears on, we start to chat it up with some cute girls sitting next to us at the bar. Because I'm not actually TRYING to impress this girl, I manage to impress her and we get along really well. The night seems very pleasant at this point, and I'm getting a nice drink on.

April 1, 2010 - 10:00 pm
The girl I'm hitting on (Let's call her Sue... not her real name) gets a text message. Sue appears visibly annoyed, and she says, "God! Why can't my ex-boyfriend take a hint." Having hacked my way through my own field of troubled women, I could understand her troubles. We joked about clingy exes for a few minutes.

April 1, 2010 - 11:00 pm
I come back from a bathroom break (remember, booze be tasty) to hear Sue finishing a conversation on the phone, "I'm in Oakland. I don't want to see you. Leave me alone." I should have sniffed out a possible bad situation brewing, but my mind was elsewhere. Booze be tasty... and her curves appealing.

April 2, 2010 - 12:00 am
My friend who I started the night with decides to call it a day. I don't think he was a huge fan of the other girl, so I understand. I decide I better stop drinking if I hope to do well with this woman tonight, and I do somehow need to get my car out of the parking garage.

April 2, 2010 - 1:00 am
The lady friend and I begin to discuss what we'll do once we leave the bar. Suggestive comments and knowing glances abound. In my mind, I'm thinking, "Shazaam!!!"

April 2, 2010 - 2:00 am
I offer the lady friend and her friend a ride home. I'm not pretty sober, feeling only that slight after-drunk that happens when you've only been drinking water for 2 hours. We almost make it back to the parking garage when I realize, "Oh crap! I left my bookbag back at the bar."

April 2, 2010 - 2:15 am
We trudge back to the bar and retrieve my stylish bookbag. We head back to the car once again. While strolling casually down Forbes Avenue, I'm holding the girl's hand and joking with her when I feel a jolt to the side of my head and I fall to the ground. Thoroughly confused, I look up to see this wild-eyed 20-something punching and kicking me. "This is a mistake!" I yell. "I didn't do anything to you." I hear the attacking lunatic yelling to the girl I was with, "Why are you holding hands with HIM!!??"

April 2, 2010 - 2:20 am
I rest my head on the concrete, and a few passersby help me sit up. In an instant, a police officer and paramedic are on the scene. In Oakland, they know better than to leave college students to their own devices. I look down at the sidewalk to see a surprisingly sizable pool of blood. "Oh wow!" I say, somewhat disoriented. "What the hell happened?"
"Dude! I saw the whole thing," says one of the Samaritans. "That asshole just stopped his car in the middle of the street, leaped out, and he punched you in the side of the head."
"Yeah," his friend chimes in, "The punch knocked you into that pillar there. I think it knocked you out for a second."
"The asshole kept hitting him and kicking him even when he was down," the first guy says, now speaking to the police officer. "That's just not cool."
Now from my perspective, I don't really think any of it is cool. Well, that's not entirely true. I did ask the bystanders, "Do the injuries at least make me look badass?" This apparently amuses them greatly. The paramedic checks me out for immediate injuries. He throws a bandage over my eyebrow (which was bleeding profusely) and puts me in a neck brace (which was soon reasoned to be unnecessary).

April 2, 2010 - 2:30 am
I start to get my bearings a bit, and I look up to see four bystanders, a police officer, a paramedic, and some bearded gentleman apologizing profusely to me. "I'm so sorry, man! I don't know why I did that. I was just so mad." I suddenly realize who this guy is. "Wait! You're the guy who attacked me!!??" All the pieces start to fall into place. Clearly, this guy is the girl's psycho ex-boyfriend. Someone is obviously the jealous type. I look around for the girl to get some confirmation on this, but she's nowhere to be found. I find out later that her friend dragged her away after the police told them to leave.

April 2, 2010 - 2:35 am
After the paramedic patches me up, the police officer takes me aside and asks, "Would you like to press formal charges against this guy?" I mull it over, but I'm still woozy and not in the best of moods. "I don't know," I honestly say. "Well," the officer explains, "If you press charges, you have to show up for trial and fill out the necessary paperwork. He'll most likely be charged with disorderly conduct." In retrospect, I don't think the cop wanted to do the paperwork. But all I want at this time is to get fixed up and go home, so I tell him that I don't want to press formal charges. He'll be taken in and given a citation. More on this point later.

April 2, 2010 - 2:45 am
Because I have an obvious head injury, the paramedic insists that I go to the emergency. The four guys who saw the incident offer to walk me to the ER (which is only a block away) so that my uninsured ass won't have to pay for an ambulance, but the paramedic offers to take me there for free since he's heading back there anyway.

April 2, 2010 - 3:00 am
For the next two and a half hours, I regale the emergency room staff with my tale, and I muse about the unfortunate nature of these circumstances. "My friends always tell me to hit on women. 'What's the worst that could happen?' they say. Well, now I have Exhibit A." I tell the ER doctor how much I was hoping to get my ass beaten down by a lunatic while on my way to a girl's house. The doctor agreed that this was about the worst cock block he'd ever heard of.

April 2, 2010 - 4:00 am
Injuries sustained: The blow to my forehead put a deep cut in my eyebrow, and I had a huge lump there. The doctors give me a stitch or two in my eyebrow. My knees were skinned VERY badly. My back and neck hurt, but there was no major damage there. The doctors were very concerned about a concussion or brain injury, so they performed a cat scan. Once again, I will stress that I am one of the uninsured masses, so none of this comes cheap. The cat scan, in particular, really racks up the cost.
April 2, 2010 - 5:30 am
I am released from the ER. It's now been 24 hours since I've had any sleep (aside from a few brief naps in the ER), my knees are oozing blood, my head is throbbing, and I've got stitches in my face. I didn't get laid, I have no jacket, and my shorts are stained with blood. I'm hobbling along the street like a distempered hobo. I'm feeling like absolute shit, and I want to go home. I make my way to the parking garage where I left my car the previous night only to discover.... THE GARAGE IS CLOSED!! There may, in fact, be a God. But if there is, he's certainly a malevolent being who is out to get me. I bang on the gate of the garage, and a guy comes out. He tells me that he can't open the garage until 6am. So I have to sit out in the dark for a half hour nursing my wounds. I have time to reflect on the night's events, and my reaction is one of surprising calm. More than anything, the entire incident seems so bizarre, unlikely, and brimming with irony that I start to laugh.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

This incident just completely cemented my place as the unluckiest man in love. I can't even pick up a random girl at a bar without inviting insanity to follow me home and introduce my face to a concrete pillar. Even a one night stand ends in disaster now. Instead of getting laid, I got laid out.

Now that a few days have passed, my wounds have mostly healed. My brother thought I looked rather badass with my eyebrow scar, though I thought it made me look like Quasimodo. My knees still hurt because of the scrapes, but at least the pain is relatively manageable.

I have no real desire to press criminal charges against this aggressive asshole because I don't need the headaches of trial dates, filing police forms, and possibly even hiring an attorney. What is very important to me is that I manage to get this jackass to pay my emergency room bills. I'm expecting my fees to rack up into the thousands, and I'll be damned if my family and me are going to shell out that kind of cash just because this lunatic can't understand when a relationship is over. So now I'm in the process of finding out what I need to do to file a civil case for the cost of my medical bills. Nothing allows me to channel the spirit of Jack McCoy quite like filing a lawsuit in small claims court.

The day after the incident, the girl from the bar texted me. I'd forgotten that she'd obtained my cell phone number that night. She apologized profusely for the incident, and she said that her ex-boyfriend had never done anything like that before. She told me what a great guy I am (not news to me), and that she really wants to see me again.

Now, I'm all about the easy pickings, but really, there are plenty of nice girls out there. I don't need to pursue the one that has a psychotic ex-boyfriend who may attempt to stab me in the kidney whenever we go out on a date. Really, with my history of women, I can usually expect the woman to be the one who's going to beat me up. Adding in deadly baggage is just pushing the limits of my pain threshold.

So there you have it, friends. The epic tale of my night of misfortune. And after all of these hardships and trials, I've learned my real lesson:
Never escort a woman down the street after 2am. Just have sex with her in the alley.

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"You'd shoot a man in the back?"
"It's the safest way, isn't it?"

The Tax Man Can

Before I begin my diatribe, let me admit up front that my yearly tax forms consistently make me feel like an economic dolt. My current understanding of taxes amounts to: "Fill out forms so government can send me refund for being broke." I use the H&R Block online tax thingy every year and I believed everything to be in order as far as my state and federal taxes were concerned.

Then a few weeks ago I received a nice little letter from CENTAX (Central Tax Bureau of PA) telling me that there was an earned income tax audit discrepancy for the 2006 tax year. Apparently I was delinquent in paying my local school district taxes. The tax is a meager 1% deal with a relatively minor penalty. All told, I owe $84. Not all that bad really.

What annoyed me was that I couldn't figure out why I owed school district taxes. One of Mr. and Mrs. Employers' favorite topics of social inequity involves the fact that school district taxes are paid by wealthy and responsible property owners, and they pay for the children of mooching and lazy renters to go to school without having to pay a dime. Being a lazy and mooching less-than-renter, I couldn't figure out why I would owe taxes.

One phone call later, I learned that this particular tax is levied against anyone who earns an income; the other larger tax applies to people with property. And you know what? That's fine. I have no problem paying my share of taxes. In my mind, I never consider my taxed money to be part of my income anyway. It's money that I never had rather than money that the government is taking from me. So fundamentally I have no gripe with CENTAX.

What annoys me to no end is that, once again, the bureaucracy has informed me that ignorance of the law is no excuse... pay up! Typically, if your employer lives in your community, the 1% is automatically taken out of your wages, but if you work in, say, West Virginia while your home address is listed as Kittanning, you have to know intrinsically to pay your local school tax on your own. Maybe everyone else learned in third grade that one must determine his or her own local tax status, but I never got that memo. CENTAX never sent me a letter telling me that owed them money. The local government never sent me a letter telling me to go see my local wage office. Quite simply, I was just expected to know to go pay my local 1% school district tax somewhere somehow.

I'll follow the rules when I know what the rules are. But don't keep the rules secret and then fine my ass when I don't follow them. I'm sure a lot of people learned that local taxes were their own responsibility, but I never did. I'm certainly not the dumbest waste of space in this state, so I'm sure plenty of other people screwed it up too. I half-suspect that they do it on purpose so that they can fine people when they fail to pay up.

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"Let the bears pay the Bear Tax. I'll pay the Homer Tax."