One of my funnier stories in court was merely the swearing-in of a witness. The man was Italian. I asked him to hold the Bible out in his right hand. As he did so, I said:

Me: “The evidence you shall give, touching the matter now before this court, shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Please say the words, ‘So help me God.’”

With a serious disposition and in a loud, thick Italian accent, the man replied:

Man: “Touching this here Bible, I swear I tella no bulls***!”

The courtroom — from the Magistrate to the back of the public gallery — erupted in laughter!

My daughter was summoned for jury duty, and as it was her first time doing so, she was naturally nervous and arrived early. Eventually, everyone arrived, and the bailiff stood up and started giving them instructions.

Suddenly, loud and clear, a certain voice from a woman’s phone was heard.

Voice: “How to get out of jury duty. Is that what you want?”

The woman’s face turned red, everyone started tittering, and the bailiff struggled to keep a straight face. Luckily for her (and for my daughter), the defendant decided to plead guilty and they were all sent home.

Back in the 2010s, I worked my first job as a server at a local restaurant. Around late 2017 or so, I received a jury duty summons in the mail. I’d never served jury duty before, but I did know what was involved (my husband has served a few times) and that I was required by law to serve. I showed the restaurant’s owner the jury duty summons. She studied it for a moment and then handed it back to me.

Owner: “No. Absolutely not. We are going to be very busy that week, and we’ll need you. You are not going to use this as an excuse to get out of the holiday season. If you do not show up for work, it will count as a no-call-no-show, which is grounds for instant termination. Understand?”

Me: “You can’t fire me for going on jury duty.”

Owner: “California is an at-will state. I can fire you for any reason I want.”

Me: “No, jury duty is protected under federal law, and—”

Owner: “Shut up. ‘At-will’ means I can fire you for any. Reason. Bottom line. You do not have my permission to go to your jury duty. You will be here, or you will not have a job. That is final!”

She then stormed off.

At the jury selection a few days later (which THANKFULLY was on my day off), the judge asked me if there was anything that I believed would disqualify me from serving.

Me: “My boss told me that she wanted me to work that week and that if I didn’t show up, I’d be fired. Other than that, Your Honor, I have no problems serving. I know my obligations and rights as my husband has served before.”

The judge stared at me for a moment and then told me to meet him in his chambers.

Judge: “Would you mind giving me the phone number for your workplace? I will handle this myself.”

I gave him the restaurant’s number, which he called.

Judge: “Is this [Owner]? Hi, this is [Judge] at [Courthouse], and I need to talk to you about jury duty.” *Pauses* “Yes, this is about Mrs. [My Name].” *Pauses* “You have no say or choice in the matter. She is obligated under federal law to serve for jury duty.” *Pauses* “Mrs. [My Name] doesn’t need your permission. She’s obligated under federal law.” *Pauses* “No, you cannot fire her for that.” *Pauses* “NO. You. Cannot. Fire. Her. For. That.” *Pauses* “No. At-will employment does not cover that. Jury duty is protected under federal law, and you will not— NO. STOP. RIGHT NOW. Do not say another word unless I say so, or I will hold you in contempt and put a warrant out for your immediate arrest. Am I understood?”

[Owner] screamed the next sentence loudly enough that I could clearly hear it even though the phone was not on speaker.

Owner: “TELL THAT WORTHLESS B**** SHE’S FIRED!” *Click*

The judge rolled his eyes and assured me that the situation would be dealt with. Soon after, [Owner] was brought to the courthouse in handcuffs and was brought before the bench. The judge spent a good thirty minutes chewing her out over jury duty laws in a voice that would have made even a drill sergeant wince in fear. [Owner] finally realized how badly she had f***ed up, and she apologized and reinstated me with back pay. The judge, in return, decided to drop the contempt of court charges against her.

All I can say is that [Owner] got off EXTREMELY lucky that day. Any other judge wouldn’t have been as generous or patient as [Judge] was, especially with her last line on that phone call.

I left that restaurant for a better-paying office job about a month after I completed my jury duty services anyway because I knew [Owner] would eventually find some dumb excuse to fire me. I’m still working at my new job to this day, while [Restaurant] permanently shut down for separate reasons about a year into the global health crisis.

A woman comes into my print shop on a Thursday, three hours before we close for a three-day Christmas vacation (Friday, Saturday, and Sunday).

She wants an elaborate sixty-page program, complete with photos and bios, for a formal dinner honoring the recipient of an award. Since the job is complicated, I handle it myself.

I’m the general manager of the print shop and have over twenty-seven years of experience in the business, both in printing and in graphic design. The woman is rude and demanding, but I’m used to dealing with difficult people in this job.

Client: “I want the proof by Monday.”

Me: “That will be impossible since tomorrow is Christmas Eve and we’ll be closed until Monday morning.”

Client: *Blowing a gasket* “No! I need that proof for Monday! I’ll take my business somewhere else if you don’t accommodate me!”

I’m thinking, “Sure, you will. Like you’re going to find someone else to work over the Christmas holidays, right?” However, I do have a freelance graphic designer who might just take on the job. I call him, and since he’s single and really doesn’t have any plans for Christmas, he’s willing to take the job and earn some extra cash.

Okay, problem solved!

I go over the design and layout she wants, and I make multiple suggestions in order to make it look really professional.

I give the information to my designer, who works over the Christmas holidays and turns in the proof on Monday for the client to view. I call her.

Client: “Oh, I’m too tired from yesterday. I’ll come in on Wednesday.”

Sigh…

She comes in and, of course, makes revisions — that’s to be expected from any client — and off it goes, back to the designer to make the changes.

After multiple proofs, we finally have an approved proof, ready to print. The cover of the program features the recipient’s name and photo. The client looks over paper samples and picks out a stock for the cover: a very dark navy blue, so dark it is almost black.

Me: “Because the cover is so dark, I suggest a gold or silver ink.”

Client: “I am having none of that! You just want me to pay extra for colored ink! Don’t think I haven’t noticed that your black ink is no extra charge.”

Me: “Black ink won’t show up on a dark navy blue cover—”

She slams her hand down on the counter.

Client: “Why can’t I have this program the way I want?! This isn’t your program. It’s mine, and I want black ink!“

At that point, I stop any suggestions or discussions about the program. I make her sign off on the proof and the specs and send her on her way.

Right before we start printing the cover, I stop the press and speak with my pressman. I KNOW the cover is going to look like crap, and I do not want to print it with black ink.

Pressman: “Oh, I agree with you one hundred percent. But I need to point out that if you don’t print it the way she approved it and signed off on it, then she can legally refuse to pay for the job.”

Me: *Sighs* “You’re right. Go ahead and print it… dark blue cover, black ink.”

Of course, I was right; you can barely see the ink on the cover. The job is printed and ready for pick-up on the day of the ceremony. Luckily for me, the client sends her daughter to pick up the job, and I am able, on that day, to avoid the s***-storm I know is coming.

Sure enough the next day, in she comes, ranting and raving.

Client: “That cover looked like crap! You couldn’t see the printing on the front!”

Me: “Ma’am, I tried to suggest not using black ink.”

She throws a hissy fit to try to get her way, and I even quote the hand-slamming statement she made to me.

Me: “Ma’am, you treated me like I was an idiot instead of someone with twenty-seven years of experience in this business.”

She storms out, screaming that she will not pay for the job. She actually calls her bank and cancels the check. The bill for the job is $2,700, including the $800 I have already paid the freelance designer to do the job over the holidays. We end up suing her for the money.

Once she’s served, she comes back into my shop.

Client: “I want to talk to the owners!”

I go talk to the owners, who are aware of the situation. They look like they might be wavering a bit.

Me: “If you do not back me on this, and if you even dare to give her a discount, I’ll quit immediately, right here and now. No way, no how am I letting that spoiled, mean, nasty, entitled client win this contest.”

The owners do not back down.

We end up taking her to court, and we win. She sneers at us in court and tells us:

Client: “It will be a cold day in Hell before I pay you.”

I think to myself, “We’ll see about that.” We then file a judgment against her for the money owed. What she doesn’t realize is that when there is a judgment filed against you, it ruins your credit. Try to get a car loan or mortgage with a judgment against you. You can’t even get a credit card from a bank.

It takes about eight months for this fact of life to bite her in the a**. She shows up in my shop again.

Client: “Look, you’ve made your point. I need you to drop the judgment as I want to buy a house but it’s stopping me from getting a mortgage.”

Me: “Sure, we’ll drop it… as soon as you pay it.” 

Before she left, she ended up writing us a check for the full amount, all the while cussing us out from one end to the other.

Before we deposited the check, I copied it and hung the copy on my wall with the word KARMA written on it in big-a** black letters. I know it’s not very Christian of me, but every time I looked at that check, I smiled. It was proof that what goes around comes around, and sometimes you get lucky enough to actually see it come around.

Many years ago, I lived in the middle of nowhere upstate in New York. Montreal was by far the nearest major city. I got sick with a nasty infection. I was, in fact, one of the first people with a bacterial infection that Ciprofloxacin wouldn’t touch. It was bad. I had to drive myself to Boston for treatment, as that was where the nearest major hospital was with facilities to deal with it. I was there for about a month, and I was in and out of the hospital several times.

Imagine my surprise when, half a year later, I got a letter forwarded to me from the court where I had lived in New York. I had an unpaid parking ticket that had been turned into a mandatory appearance for non-payment. At that point, I had moved to the other side of the country and was NOT going back.

The date on the ticket was actually when I was in the ICU, and I had proof that my vehicle was in the hospital parking lot; I originally went in for outpatient, and that didn’t go well, so my car was ticketed there and impounded in the end. Obviously, I was not in New York and had never received the ticket, so I had no knowledge of it, and it could not have been my car.

I sent the documentation to the court, but the response was that it didn’t matter, as I had to show up in person to present evidence, and if I didn’t, a felony contempt warrant would be issued. I wasn’t planning to ever go back to the area, so rather than take a week from work to go fight it, I let it go. 

The only time it ever came up was when I was issued a security clearance, and the agent told me not to worry; they saw this kind of thing fairly often from small-town justices of the peace, and it had no standing.