Cattle call

Anderson County, Tennessee has got what has to be one of the worst scheduling mechanisms I have ever, ever seen. This morning, I was number 392 on a docket call of 395 cases. Every attorney got a printout of every case on the court's docket, and a worksheet with the trial dates already scheduled filled in. When a case number was called, the lawyers stood up in the gallery and announced their preferences for scheduling their own trial dates. They were picking dates as late as December of 2007. I had to follow along for the entire two and a half hours with the worksheet to keep track of what dates were getting filled up and what dates were still available.

This was worse that Department "A" in the Van Nuys Superior Court after the Northridge Earthquake, when Van Nuys handled both its own cases and San Fernando's. There, you could find your case number on the wall, try and locate the other attorney, and stipulate on dates to be rubber-stamped by the clerk. No judge, no muss, no fuss (well, a little fuss but it worked out); stipulated dates, face-to-face contact with your adversary, and you were out of there as soon as you could cut a deal. Oh, and a shorter calendar, too; I remember seeing case numbers as high as 140 in the Bad Old Days in Department "A." Never did I see a #395 on the docket -- and bear in mind that Anderson County has one-tenth the number of people living in it as did the combined North Valley districts back in Los Angeles.

So anyway, it took all morning for my case to be called up there -- I had only one case; but there was one guy who must have had sixty -- and at the end of the session, I was able to get a date in mid-September for an ordinary slip-and-fall I filed last month. At least I got to meet the defense attorney -- who asked for a trial date a year later than we actually were assigned, so it's a good thing I stuck around. I could have gone across the street, had some coffee, read the paper, played a little handball with the high school kids skipping school, showered and cleaned up, and then gone back through the metal detector in plenty of time to make docket sounding #360. And an hour there and an hour back. What a colossal waste of time; I want my morning back.