Getting older means looking around at other people and thinking “I should have done what they’re doing.” This is how I feel about judges.  Look at what happens--they walk into a room and the bailiff says “Everybody rise for the Honorable So-and-So” and everyone in the room has to stand up.

Mind you, you have no idea at this point if this is a good judge or a bad judge.  He probably just finished reading a stack of porn in his quarters.  Why do you think they wear those big flappy robes?  But it doesn’t matter.  Everyone pays their respects.

I’d like everyone to stand when I enter the room.  Or at least have someone play a killer guitar riff with a wah-wah pedal.  Whatever helps to set the appropriate tone for my presence.  I’m not picky about this.**

But what happens now when I walk into a room is completely unacceptable:

“Oh for Christ’s sake. Someone invited Marketing to this meeting?”

“Yeah, they’re here to work on the user interface.”

“Screw the user interface.  We’ve slaved on this application for six months and it’s a thing of beauty.  Get this: the user has to follow thirty steps in order to reach the main screen, including guessing a password which is a random combination of Swahili and Arabic characters.”

*However, I totally got out of jury duty.  And no, I didn’t perjure myself.  I am a Golden God.

**I’d also like to be a maverick cop.  One who deals out his own brand of justice.  But perhaps that’s a different post.