– First day, huh. Nervous? I know I was.
– No. I have everything set up. I prepared the Judge’s papers, I bought a new bible, I gave everyone gavels, I—
– Wait. What did you just say?
– I gave everyone gavels.
– Perfect. That’s very good. Good job, bailiff.
The judge sits down and bangs her gavel. Court starts now.
The prosecution says his oral argument. It’s about him being a fierce and mighty gavel whacker.
Jurors are bonking each other on the heads.
Defendant tells his gavel that he’s guilty.
“Clunk clunk, thunk, clunk,” the defense attorney gavels over his client’s confession.
The stenographer smashes his keyboard, writing a perfect record.
Witness puts his hand on a bible and swears to call his gavel “God’s Mallet.”
The judge has the biggest gavel and says “ORDER!” Then she smashes her chair.
The judge fixes her chair with a normal hammer while she smiles at a picture of a gavel.
New bailiff grabs a gavel and shatters the glass on the Emergency gavel box.
Smaller judges from the crowd swarm in to grab a free gavel.
Old bailiff catches New bailiff’s eye and nods. He’s done well.
He looks down at his gavel, the one Old bailiff gifted him as a boy.
Memories flood back like water from the overhead sprinklers. Gavel-friction started a fire.
He lifts his eyes back to Old bailiff, wanting to thank him. But he was—gone.
New bailiff weeps. But only because the smashing made the air 80% splinters and also he’s sad.
