Out of Order

 Today I had my first small claims experience as an attorney.  

For those of you who don't know, small claims is for people who don't want to hire an attorney to sue someone, so they represent themselves, and the amount of money they are asking for is less than $5,000.  I've never represented anyone in small claims trials before, because usually your insurance company only sends in an attorney to represent you when there is much more at stake (the big boys and girls lawsuits).

 I went into the experience hoping, praying, for some real-life Judge Judy or Peoples' Court drama complete with shouting, questionable clothing,  and the bailiff having to restrain at least one hysterical baby mama.  I got none of that.  Only a handful of people on the pages long docket bothered to show up, and most of them came only to learn that the other party hadn't been served and they would have to come back in a month.  

Except for my opponent.  He was there, ready and waiting.  He had a stack of crumpled documents and sat quietly, waiting for his turn.  I almost felt sorry for him, as I sat next to my client with my briefcase, in my suit.  This should be easy.  The facts weren't all in our favor, but I had hard evidence to point to, contracts that were signed, numbers and figures to quote, and caselaw if needed.

I grew impatient as I listened to the plaintiff begin to tell his story--he started somewhere in the middle, had to back up to explain why we were there, skipped over some of the important parts, and kept on ramblin'.  He was going with the "it ain't right" theory.  

Finally, it was my turn.  I followed my outline, hit all my points, admitted all my exhibits into evidence, and summed up our position in a clean and concise ten minutes.

It wasn't until I heard the judge ask the plaintiff how he should calculate the damages that I realized "this isn't going well."  I had prepared for such an outcome, and I pulled out my printout of the Kelley Blue Book value for the plaintiff's vehicle and started to quote the numbers, right down to the dollars and cents, for the judge.  It wasn't until I heard the judge ask the plaintiff what HE figured his car was worth and then wrote down in his notepad the "guesstimate" the plaintiff came up with that I realized "this REALLY isn't going well."

So the guy without an attorney, with a wadded up pile of papers, and an estimate of damages that he determined after a less-than-extensive Craigslist search won.  At least the judge did me the favor of not issuing his judgment right away in open court--he waited about half an hour before sending an electronic notice.  Too bad the electronic notice gave me a small heart attack and sent me into shock because it read:  "judgment entered in favor of plaintiff in the amount of $10,000."  (Remember what I said before:  the limit in small claims court is $5,000).  I immediately emailed the partner on the file assuring him that "there must have been a mistake."  

The good news is, it was.  One extra zero and suddenly things get REAL.  If you've ever fantasized about how and when your boss is finally going to realize that you have no idea what you're doing and kick you to the curb, then you get it.  

Small claims court = 1
Amy = 0