Last week I learned something very important about myself: I will never be a judge. I mean the courtroom kind. No bench sitting or black robe for me.
Give me Dancing With the Stars and I could run with that. (First order of business–buh bye Nancy Grace).
I always expected that judges sat on the bench, listened carefully, weighed the facts, and then dolled out punishment. I thought they separated truth from fiction. Found the holes in testimony. And most of all, I thought judges didn’t tolerate bunk.
I think I’m pretty good at all those things.
But that’s not what happens, at least not in traffic court.