SNAP JUDGMENT

Claudia loved her reality shows.  You betcha.  Because she could plainly see that there were some REAL troubles out in this mean world.  Her favorites were the new "Extreme" law shows.  During their allotted sixty minutes, a criminal case was presented and a "panel" was given the opportunity to decide if the offender was guilty. After the verdict was rendered, the punishment was decided in the same manor.  Although anyone who watched could vote, only those selected had the actual influence and control. It prevented "over voting" and was the network's way of keeping the process fair and just.

They all needed to go, in Claudia's mind.  She had grown tired and frankly intolerant of the "poor me" attitude and excuses that all those losers seemed to use to justify their bad life decisions.  "They are just excuses Ruthie." she slurped through a milkshake.  "And excuses are like butt holes.  Everyone has one and they all stink." she slurped again for emphasis.  She loved voting, feeling that she had seen more than enough "Law and Order (in any city)" and "Forensic Files" to qualify herself to sit in the catbird seat right there next to Nancy Grace (minus the bad haircut and vesty ensemble) "See Ruthie, shows like this could save this country.  Let the decision be made by the REAL people of America.  We could eliminate lawyers.  Why, they're just bullshit salesmen with mouths full of samples." She raised her hand to cover her giggle and sucked her sausagy fingers authoritatively before continuing her wondrous pontification.

"Rapists should be raped.  Beaters should be beat and thieves should be robbed." She said matter of factly through a mouth full of cream puff to her best friend on the speaker phone.  Claudia was proud of her "Nancy-like" no nonsense ability to decide swiftly.  There were no liberal grey areas for Claudia.  As the television droned on, she continued to spout her wisdom to Ruthie in between snacks and commercials.  This was how her days were usually spent.

When the opportunity arose to participate in just such a show, Claudia waded in full tilt; and at two fifty, most of which was sturdy, one-sided, uneducated opinion, it was just that: tilt. These shows only reinforced her strong sense of (in)justice for the "few good people left";  so when the "golden ticket" dropped in her lap and she had the chance to apply for a spot on "Jury Duty", Claudia moved as quickly as her microwaving of the next round of Hot Pockets would permit.  She began filming her response and audition video.  In it, she was careful but sure to include her concise opinion about the mess made by today's soft -hearted, weak society and how the thugs, self-entitled crybabies, and non-working worthless drug addicts were sucking the morals, funds and spirits from this once strong country.  Faster than she could open a Little Debbie Oatmeal pie , her chubby hand smudged with cheese puff dust she signed her name like an autograph.  She briskly licked her fingers and attempted to erase  the smear. She had to hurry because "Mob Wives" was coming on; a welcome distraction while she waited. 

The congratulatory letter came a few weeks later which she framed and hung nobly next to her signed pictures of Orville Redenbaucher and Dave Thomas.  She then called Ruthie to briefly brag, followed by excited frantic packing.  In three short days, she'd be in LA filming.  She bought new shades and clothes because as an important person mingling with MORE important people, she'd need them. Fame came with a price.  She also practiced signing her name "on the run" and shielding her puffy eyes from the paparazzi.  Claudia wanted to be prepared. 

But LA was bustling with indifferent, busy snobs and sweaty suspicious hoodlums.  She stepped out at the taxi stand and waited, flagging every cab that passed.  The producers wanted her to meet them at the hotel at 3.  She had six hours which should be plenty of time; until the rude man in the shiny business suit stole her cab.  Then there was the traffic and not even mentioning the cabby barely spoke English but at last she arrived at the hotel.  She couldn't understand why they hadn't sent a limo for her. She vowed she would return to the airport in one.

"This is America; learn damn English Buddy." she offered as her only tip.  She barged angrily up to the concierge desk, eager to crash in her deluxe suite only to find the ditsy, too tan blond couldn't find her reservation or anyone who could help her.  Forced to foot the bill herself, Claudia settled on a regular room and dragged herself to it where she attempted to freshen up by applying too much war paint and too heavy perfume.  She then returned to the lobby to find a message.  It was simply an address and a "see you there soon." style note.  Returning to the useless Barbie doll at the desk, Claudia loudly insisted a cabby be called for her and waiting after she made a pit stop at the little bake shop for a soothing overstuffed apple turnover. Comfort came in the first bite and she sighed heavily slumping into her car; trying to relax a little, regain the focus of her mission here and enjoy the sights of a town in such turmoil and desperate need of sound judgment.

The cabby slowed, gesturing her to get out.  Hoisting herself from the sticky hot and torn seat, she ripped her dress and scraped her leg.  The driver clucked impatiently and even gave a little warning push on the gas as she scooched out.  She shook her head and paid the man realizing all too late that the street sign was not the one given to her.  He'd made a mistake but now he was gone. With the same confidence in her sense of direction as her sense of righteousness, Claudia began to walk through town asking passers-by for directions; but no one spoke English and she didn't know Spanish or anything for that matter.  Tired, frustrated and sore from the two block meandering, she collapsed at a small bistro where she demanded water from a young waiter.  Balking at the four dollar bill he laid underneath, she got to her feet and committed a dine and dash.  "It's just water for Cripe's sake." she spluttered, pushing rudely passed him and his threats and objections.  She casually flipped him the bird and kept going.  Making it one more block before she was certain her heart would explode in her chest, she finally stopped a young man and showed him the paper with the address on it.  He looped his ropey muscular arm through her beefy one and began to walk her.  He spoke no English but nodded nicely and smiled a lot.  Claudia smiled too with relief to have found such a nice young man so willing to help her.  Help her he did.  Right into an alley where he mugged and assaulted her.  This "happy go lucky" broke her cheek, punched her chest and stomach so hard that she vomited and lost consciousness. Her last thought was that she'd be late for the meeting.

Clarity and searing pain returned her to the stinking alley.  The sun was gone now and Claudia simply wasn't sure if it was night, or if it had merely hidden from the filth of this city.  she staggered out of the alley and into a small grocery store.  Woozy from the beating she lost her footing and crashed into a small display of fresh thin skinned fruit.  Plums, peaches and raspberries toppled to the floor where her hefty frame quickly made a colorful yet messy puree.  The shop keeper, a tiny Asian man with a shrill voice began to swack her with his broom. The only word she even remotely understood was "cops".  She laughed with exhaustion  and pain and said "Yes Please."

Too thick men in black arrived and pulled her to her feet.  The shopkeeper was prattling on and on at an alarming rate.  Claudia simply sat in the back of the cruiser.  They nodded and wrote down things as the owner ran through his verbal and physical acrobatics; arms flailing and voice sinking and rising to lows and highs beyond her hearing.  The police nodded and drove her to the station.  She smiled and asked if they wanted to hear the truth; which they said they were all too interested in. 

Claudia began her tale of woe.

To her true amazement, no one believed her; not one word.  They didn't think she was heading for a meeting with television people to be on a reality show.  they didn't believe that she had been mugged or raped. They didn't believe her so much that she was given an ugly jumper and led down a hallway where her picture was taken but no one asked her for her autograph. They began to read a litany of charges consisting of theft, public nuisance, assault and worst of all prostitution.  Claudia watched as the shop keeper, the waiter from the bistro and the young man who had in fact hurt her all began to talk and point.

This was simply too much for her.  She leaped from her seat and began to pound on the window. "Hey! Hey you asshole! I want a lawyer! Get me the phone book.  I know my rights.  I'll sue you from here to Titicaca. ALL of you!"

One of the officers came back and loomed over her asking her carefully to sit down.  The tightness in his voice was an unmistakable warning and Claudia did as she was "asked". 

"I want a lawyer." she said again quietly.

"You don't need one." he replied smugly and stepped from the room.

Bright lights flashed in her face.  Cameras began to crowd the window and she was paraded out to a voracious crowd.  She was heading for television all right; as the criminal.  She was a homeless prostitute who stole and assaulted a waiter and beat a shop owner for the drugs she needed to pay her pimp.

The votes were tallied.
Just like that.



Well this was a labor of love. I was plagued with technological snafus and yet here we are.  I like it. Especially since I hate "reality" shows with a passion.  I have a couple more ready but we'll see if my computer savvy holds out.

Thanks for visiting. I'm glad you shared some time with me. It's been too long. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.