Evidently when they say be there at 8:00 A.M. they mean to be there AT 8:00 A.M. Not 8:34, nor anywhere in the vicinity of that terribly tardy time, 8:00 A.M. on the “dot”. I would swear to you vehemently, if I thought it would help, that we were indeed where they told us to be at 8:00. The disappointing technicality is that we were not supposed to be in room 103 at 600 Elm St. at 8:00, as we were told. We were supposed to be in the Court Clerk’s office at 8:00…A.M…on the do... on the 6th floor of 600 Elm St.
I was actually quite pleased that we finally figured it out. Where to be that is. We actually sat in the court itself for about ten minutes, because that’s what the sweet African-American lady at the “information” desk told us to do.
“We’re here to get divorced and we need to know what to do”, I said.
“You go to the court you were assigned,” she looks at the paperwork, “Yes. You need to go the 6th floor.”
“I know, we’ve already been to the 6th floor…but we didn’t know what to do…do we just go in?”, and indeed at this point we had already been upstairs, through security where I lost a fork and X2 lost a pair of scissors. We had peered into the lonely, scary court room and been completely perplexed. There were after all many snazzily dressed people with briefcases and proper Protestant haircuts milling about. Lawyers?
“Yes, just go into the court…there’s a clerk…give her the paperwork and then the judge will just make sure everything is in order and “wham-bam” you’re done.”, this is what I heard at any rate. We thanked her profusely. This had been the first person to actually give off the slightest inclination that they cared we were there and/or breathing.
So we found ourselves sitting in the courtroom, which was by this point actually doing what it is you do in a courtroom, and we waited. I think we expected that at some point there would be this “moment” where we would know what to do, but as time passed we knew it wasn’t going to happen. After watching a few cases I recalled seeing a bleak, narrow, and non-descript hallway, and I began to concoct a wild, irrational plan in my head. The plan involved going down the hallway and despite X2’s query of “Do you know where you’re going?” and my reply of “Um…no” she followed me past many doors with somberly numbered plaques, all a sickly pale beige. On a whim I went right at the intersection, my stomach began to churn. I was taking us somewhere where we did not belong. My mind was stretching out in terror as I began to believe that at any moment one of these short women was going to confront us in some mind bending horrible way.
After what seemed a very long time we found a door with a sign indicating that it was where we should have come about thirty naïve minutes ago. As I recall the sign appeared hastily created, printed from a laser printer perhaps, and held to the door by scotch tape. There was much relief. This, surely, was the place we had been seeking and now all our needs would be met by friendly clerical staff with poney tails and sweaters that accentuated the breasts. To her credit she humored us and even gave a slight hint of sympathy, but never the less scolded our tardiness with that tone one would use with a wayward child. The required time was 8:00 she told us, come back next week.
We left defeated and in an agitated state. The whole ordeal was taxing in a way that requires steady patience and solid nerves, especially if one is not conditioned to the municipal environment. All-in-all I think we did alright and we held up remarkably well, even when the situation was reaching its bleakest point. The plan now is for X2 to go back alone next week and take care of the what-have-yous. Now that she knows how the thing works it shouldn’t be near the ordeal it was on our first try. She will be there. At 8:00 A.M. On the dot.
