My Unwanted Fifteen Minutes of Fame [Part 2]
As promised, here is part 2 of my court TV saga. The conclusion drops next week!
Last week, you received Part One of this saga. Definitely read that before you dive into the next segment of My Unwanted Fifteen Minutes of Fame.
After doing the smallest amount of research possible, I found out that Greg Mathis was indeed an actual, legit judge. On top of that, he had an interesting backstory. He was a troubled youth who decided to turn his life around before he went too far down the wrong path. He put himself through college and then law school to become a lawyer. His courtroom, for all intents and purposes, was real and his judgment would be official.
In the end, for financial reasons mostly but also because of the information I found online, I decided before I went to sleep that night to go ahead and appear on the show.
I called Sue the following morning. After I told her my side of the story, she said I had a strong case and urged me to file a countersuit (which, of course, she would handle it all for me). I decided to go for it, because, why not? She then made the necessary travel arrangements: I was to fly to Chicago a month later and present my case in front of the judge. No lawyers were necessary, and I was allowed to bring a witness if I wanted. I declined to do so — I wasn’t going to drag one of my friends through this. I knew I could handle it on my own. So, I put my case together, obtained witness statements from friends and copies of the police reports I filed. The officer who initially helped me (and checked in on me a couple of weeks after everything happened) provided me a statement directly and wished me luck, saying she hoped I was able to put this behind me sooner than later.
Before I knew it, it was time to head up to Chicago. The day I left, my anxiety was through the roof. A friend dropped me off at the airport and wished me luck. I chilled in an airport bar for four hours during my flight delay where a good friend of mine was a bartender. Lost in the conversation with a man who worked in the music industry, I almost missed my boarding call. It was late, I was more than half drunk, and absolutely ready to crash. The flight was less than an hour so I figured, if all went well, I’d be asleep in my hotel within a couple of hours.
After a bumpy flight through a thunderstorm, I finally arrived in Chicago shortly after midnight. I met the limousine driver in baggage claim, who was clearly upset he had to wait almost five extra hours for me to arrive. He was gruff and rolled his eyes as he closed my door and we were off to the downtown Comfort Inn. I put my earbuds back in, rolled my thumb over center of my iPod, and closed my eyes until we pulled up to the hotel.
My head hit the down pillow shortly after one and I winced at the idea of being up in just a few short hours. I set three alarms, called the front desk to schedule a wake-up call, and I grabbed what few winks I could. When all of those alarms rang, it felt like I only got fifteen minutes of sleep. I brewed some coffee, splashed ice cold water on my face, and got ready for the day I couldn’t wait to complete.
By five-forty, I was walking through the hotel lobby. I met the driver just outside the automated doors — he was much nicer than the gentleman from the night before — he asked me to wait on the sidewalk while he pulled the car around. The brisk October air was refreshing. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, in an attempt to keep the anxiety swirling in my belly at bay.
The polished black Lincoln Navigator pulled up in front of me, and the driver hopped out to take my luggage (which was only a large backpack!) and open my door. I was born to live like this, I thought, as I slipped my sunglasses on over my tired eyes. I pressed play on my iPod and let Dave Matthews take me to my happy place. I barely finished one complete jam (if you know, you know how DMB rolls) when we arrived in front of the NBC building, a high-rise that seemed to touch the heavens. My stomach started to churn and I wished I was already on a plane back to Indianapolis.
Met by a young man with sandy blonde hair in the lobby (Luke or something, I can’t remember, so we’ll just go with that), he gave me a quick run-down of what to expect as he led me to the fourth floor to begin my paperwork and prep my case for the judge. The butterflies, fluttering at full force, made me feel a bit shaky. I asked for a bottle of water to quell the swirling sensation and it helped a tiny bit, but not enough. He took me to a room that looked like a part-time advisor’s office on campus, with a single wooden desk, a filing cabinet, and two folding chairs. Luke directed me to have a seat, handed me a legal pad and a pen, and told me to go ahead and start jotting down a quick list of things I wanted to cover with the judge. As he left the room, he told me Sue would be in shortly to go over the rest of the morning.
I rhythmically tapped the pen against the desk after writing a few words, trying to think in detail about the events that led me to this moment. After a few minutes, I was interrupted by a knock on the door and a spunky woman of about twenty-seven with sparkling eyes, fierce bangs, and a bubbly personality walked in.
“Hiya, I’m Sue, so great to meet you. Ready to get this going?” she asked with a grin. She was absolutely magnetic! I think we could have been friends if we met in different circumstances. She made me feel comfortable right away and eased my anxiety about going through what I felt was such an awkward situation. I remember thinking how perfect she was for this job.
Sue handed me highlighter and a brown folder to carry my documents for the case. She took the next half-hour to walk through my case and instructed me to highlight the important pieces of my evidence and witness statements that I collected throughout the preparation for my case. She wanted me to use certain language when it was my turn to speak and I thought to myself, I think I’ll just tell the truth and stick to the facts… We went over every minute detail at least twice. When I finished editing my cue card (and after I had pink highlighter all over my hands), I was finally ready to get this show on the road.
Sue told me we would be coming back to this room when it was all over, so I could leave anything I didn’t want to take with me. I left my backpack but took my purse with me and followed her down the long hallway peppered with photos of Oprah (mainly from the eighties), technicolor peacocks on the walls, and canned lights strewn about. At the end, we hopped on a dingy service elevator and arrived on the ground floor, and continued walking through what resembled a large warehouse with garages inside. Picture a sliding garage door on the front of a storage unit – this is all I saw. Am I really in the same building as Oprah? I wondered to myself. It was then I saw the large “Jerry Springer” sign on one of the doors. Oh, my goodness, I cannot believe I am in the same studio as Jerry! Seventh-grade me was screaming internally — that show was a staple during sick days!
A few doors down was the “courtroom” I was about to enter. With the stage lights and curtains and garage doors, I felt like I was backstage of what would be the most important performance of my life (so far, I suppose). My nerves were absolutely wrecked. Sue directed me to walk through the wooden double doors when she gave me the signal — a finger point toward the door. She told me she would see me when the taping concluded and wished me luck by squeezing my shoulder.
I took a quick peek inside through the door’s opening. There were probably six or seven rows of people sitting in the back of the room, jonesing for the action to begin. The walls were plain, painted a generic brown. The “stained glass windows” resembled the tissue paper stained glass creations that kids do in grade school art. I’m certain I made some of them myself, likely around that time I had that awesome Star Search microphone.
My gaze drifted to the far side of the room and my heart began to race. Kelly. And with her, my former best friend. I had not seen either of them in a while, aside from randomly catching her icy glare across the lawn on campus. Luckily for me, when that happened I was wearing sunglasses, so I could pretend they didn’t exist. Her hair was more platinum than ever, and her usual thick black mascara made it hard to see her eyes. I shivered. That moment nearly provoked a levee to break — memories started to flood my mind. I took a deep breath and I tried to not let my emotions show. I had to keep calm and carry on.
When Sue gave me the signal, I held my head high, I walked to the front of the room. I positioned myself as directed at the podium and avoided looking to my right where Kelly and my former best friend sat. I tried to picture how they were going to introduce me. I surprised myself and stayed reserved while we waited for the Judge to enter.
The bailiff came through the side door and ordered everyone in the room to stand, then introduced the Honorable Judge Mathis. The judge emerged, wearing the standard black robe and sat down. He turned to my ex-roommate for her part of the story first.
I can’t remember most of what came out of her mouth that day, except for a few lines I jotted down feverishly on my legal pad. A couple of times, I couldn’t help myself from interrupting to say that she wasn’t completely telling the truth: she accused me of ripping her high school high school diploma and graduation party banner, and that she had pictures to prove it. She handed her photos to the bailiff, who then gave them to the Judge. He quickly deemed her photos were not credible because they were taken after she moved out, in a different location (because he saw the photos of my apartment to compare them), and there were no witnesses (or say, a police report) to back up her accusation. I tried my best not to scoff and keep my mouth shut to let her finish her side of the story, because I knew it would be for the best. If you know me, you know that was borderline impossible, lol!
Then, finally – it was my turn to tell my side of the story. And next week, I’ll tell you.