Job Security

There seems to be a lot of hair-on-fire these days about “jobs.” The burning often concerns the notion that there aren’t enough of them.

Small wonder. Jobs are silly. In the history of humans, they’ve only recently been around. And now—as is true of similar nonsense here come the judgelike cities and money—they’re going the way of the dodo. Good riddance.

However, for people who have only ever lived in job-world, and who cannot think outside the box of job-world, here’s a little tip. If you want real job security, go into the judiciary.

Yesterday I was reading the appellate reports, and came upon a case where the defendant contends, among other things, that the judge who presided over his case had lost all his marbles. Due to bad age and bad chemicals, he had transformed into a dingbat. Judge, thy name was dementia.

However, this judge had served many years, jibbered and jabbered in the remote far-eastern rural hellhole section of that deafening banjo-picking abomination known as Riverside County, and was protected for far too long by his fellow system-dwellers, who did want to embarrass the fossil by publicly decrying him as a being no more qualified to hear cases than a gila monster.

And so he babbled on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

In the course of this defendant’s appeal, many affidavits were filed by attorneys who had appeared before the wingding. An excerpt from one:

Judge Metheny came off the bench, following an evidentiary objection by me, assumed a three-point stance on the floor in the open courtroom, ordered me to get down on the floor opposite him, and threatened to knock me all the way out into the parking lot. When I declined to “assume the position,” the judge then got up and insisted I accompany him to the parking lot so he could knock me around. He had, I believe, imagined he was back at Nebraska State where he was a star football player in the ’40s or thereabouts. That was one of his common regressions . . . .

A three-judge panel of the Ninth US Circuit Court Of Appeals ruled 2-1 last week that such behavior seemed perfectly normal to them.

The dissenting judge began his opinion with these words: “The majority holds that a judge suffering from dementia may sentence a man to death. I disagree.”

But what this dissenter says doesn’t matter. He is the Loser.

The winners are all those who secure employment as a judge. ‘Cause, once up there on the bench, you can serenely spin the propellor on your beanie, and for eons. Secure in the knowledge that you’ll continue to draw the paycheck, week after week, month after month, year after year. Till you go a-molderin’ into the grave. And you can send people to the death house, too, in the meantime.


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When I Worked

June 2013
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