Hey, what’s up, I’m just your average friendly cocktail waitress who got subpoenaed to a murder trial once. I confess, I wish waiting tables was as forgiving as a real job, like prosecuting murder trials.
I had to be at court at asscrack-of-dawn o’clock in the morning, or, as listed officially on the government paperwork, nine o’clock in the forenoon. Also, this is apparently a sort of thing you’re supposed to get actually dressed for (oops). They put me in an empty, white, windowless interrogation room where I sat alone in silence and had a panic attack for approximately seven hours and fifty minutes straight, until I was finally called to testify at four-fifty in the afternoon.
Good thing I only had one doctor’s appointment booked that day at 2 p.m., which I missed. I was still panicking when I got to the witness stand, where I forgot what I was talking about and apparently contradicted something I already said because I forgot what I was talking about because I was panicking about testifying at a murder trial. I was declared officially useless and free to go, and then tripped leaving the stand. And THEN after ALL of that, a mistrial was declared! Waste my time 2k19.
It was discovered during trial that State Police withheld evidence that implicated a different perpetrator than the one standing trial. State Police’s response was a resounding “literally didn’t even think that was relevant.” A mistrial was requested by the defense and denied, chalking the omission up to innocent dumbassery by the prosecution.
The investigators responsible promised it would not happen again, so it was disregarded, and trial continued. The exact same thing happened again, more evidence accusing someone other than the accused was discovered as omitted. This second oopsie was chalked up to not being savvy with Microsoft Office, but this time the trial was canned, in the name of due process or whatever.
The defense’s lawyers have filed an 85-page motion to dismiss the case on multiple counts of the prosecutors being idiots, and incompetent at prosecuting the one high-stakes, high-profile case in their little armpit state of New Hampshire at the time. Prosecutors, meanwhile, are calling for a mulligan, admitting that, while their mistakes were grave, they were not intentional, but merely a series of repeated accidents that, therefore, should not count. “A unique and unprecedented negligent oversight” is their official excuse, as summarized from their brief 220-page objection.
So, when an infuriated customer returned to the bar I work at threatening to sue me because I forgot to include his danky dank chicken tendies in his takeout order, I calmly explained that, while my mistake was grave, it was simply a unique and unprecedented negligent oversight. Turns out, while that excuse may work in court, it does not fly for sending a grown-ass man off into the world without his chicky nuggies. I 1000% ruined this man’s whole LIFE and I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again.
He did not leave until he got his tendies, had his whole order refunded plus got a gift card, publicly berated me about getting a real job, and left a one-star review. Amidst apologizing profusely for his profoundly inconvenient five-minute return trip for the forgotten tendies, I tried to explain that I am unfortunately savvy in Microsoft Office and so fear being overqualified for a real job. A girl can dream, though.
Until then, I now see that the fate of the beloved nuggies that have been held without bail since their arrest, and the mental health of everyone who may or may not have been victimized by them, lies in my little cocktail-slinging hands, and I promise, such an unconscionable error will not happen again!
