Don’t get it twisted, ghetto people HATE going to court just as much as anyone does. But after a while, it’s like a complete 360 (no, I don’t mean 180!) is done on the whole saga and one hates it so much you may as well like it, if that makes any sense. You learn how to deal with it. Getting enough tickets or catching enough cases, you just form a routine.
You stop going alone. You start bringing the iPod or Zune to kill time (like this author did, the bwoy was bumpin’). You clear the schedule that morning. And you just kinda free your dome, loosen up, and go there ready for anything. Once upon a time, this author purposely left the whip at home and caught the bus downtown in a throwaway striped hoodie, jeans, and some clapped out Air Force Ones (no they weren’t all-white lows!) because what’s the point of being dipped (and I was still dressed better than the average person who goes) if a) one is doing some grimy *ss hoofin’ it and b) you just might not come home when you’re done in front of the judge?
This author has known dudes who were HAPPY to go to the pen! When asked why, it was because things were settled and the stressful court process was over. When cats are happy to go do their bid in West Bubblef*ck with a bunch of killers sorted out by race and towers of guards with rifles trained on them who will shoot the inmates with bullets they themselves have to pay for (paying to get shot, ain’t that about a b*tch?), that is really telling about court.
And even traffic court has its problems, because the lines are the kind people going to claim GR don’t even want a part of. All kinds of transient degenerates who wear Skechers are in the mix with people mad they get to take a break and trade gridlock on the commute for the gridlock between sheriff’s deputies. All for the pleasure of watching the clerks close windows just to f*ck with everyone waiting in that 1000-deep line to get that extension for that quota ticket they just got over the holidays (and can’t get it out the way, because it’s not in the system yet, which the clerk who’s lucky to have a job is more than happy to let you know with her stank attitude).
May as well blaze or sip on something before going. Need something to make you feel good while waiting with everyone else to get on those funky *ss elevators on the way to the next “here goes nothing” moment.