Volume Eighteen: A Day in the Life of Sheep

Posted on 01/20/2010


Prologue: I had to go to traffic court today. As I was sitting in the overcrowded courtroom, I had an inspiration. The post below is the result. I hope you enjoy it.

If fear had a smell, this was it. Well, fear mixed with cigarette smoke, coffee, and poor grooming habits. This room is eternal evidence of the existence of an American Class System. The place where the undereducated and underemployed pay for their lot in life while at the same time supporting the system that keeps us “safe”. Yet, for some reason, I don’t feel safe. I feel herded and pinned like sheep being led to slaughter; and my “handlers” seem visibly annoyed by my unwillingness to accept my predetermined fate. This sheep will not be sheared and dissected for governmental consumption. This sheep had found the loophole in the oxymoronic nature of this democratic dictatorship. This sheep, had hired an attorney…

Back to the room of our impending doom. I’m watching my sheep brethren repeatedly throw themselves into harm’s way. I watch as their fragilely crafted confidence erodes like a shoreline awaiting a hurricane. Their faces display a mixed myriad of emotion: defiance, regret, apathy, disgust, condemnation, fear. Fear was prevalent in all present. This is the fear that all citizens have, for it is how the law manages to maintain order control. That is the fear of losing the inalienable right of being able to decide your own destiny.

This stockpile of sheep has forgotten that we chose our destiny long before we entered Courtroom 2A on an unseasonably warm January morning. We chose our fate when we chose to speed, run that light or sign, change lanes illegally, ignore the school zone, or even have a few beers before driving. We deny our determined destiny immediately when we see the sobering sign of being caught in our traffic transgressions. Denial of destiny is almost immediately followed by the flooding of fear.

My dilemma: Do I mingle with the mindless and swap stories of persecution? There is not one guilty person in this room (including me) yet, why am I here? Why am I sitting on the tip of a trial, or the precipice of a plea? Why do I feel as if I’m the only one in the room that’s actually NOT guilty? And, why do I understand that eventually, inevitably, I’m going to pay? Somebody, some entity, somewhere is going to get my hard-earned (and scarce) dollars. Be it my attorney, of whom I’m grateful; or the state, of whom I am hateful.

Finally, I ask, is that the ultimate goal? Are the fines generated by the prosecutorial pimps behind gowns and gavels the true goal of the “justice system”? I know I am not a person in this slaughterhouse. I am a case number. I am defined by my charge and my penalties and my willingness to comply quickly. This sheep has found the way to remove himself from the judicial Matrix (starring me, as Neo).  Removing myself from the herd may, ultimately, cost me more. Or it might just save my skin.

That’s just my three cents….


“Peep my ver-na-cular cuz I don’t know how to act…”