I recently went to lunch with a judge friend of mine who lives a few counties up the interstate.

His docket was running a little late, which, as I understand, is not unusual. His jurisdiction includes two major interstates, so he sees a lot of traffic cases.

Being only two days after the Fourth of July, it was worse than usual. There were also a higher than usual number of OVIs (DUI, DWI, etc.) and an assortment of illegal fireworks possession cases.

I was dressed in my usual khaki shorts, an Alice’s Restaurant (Arlo Guthrie) t-shirt and my orange Crocs.

Orange Crocs are a favorite footwear for many of the local jails. Having driven with the sunroof open, I also wore my Tennessee hat to keep my head from getting sunburned. At 66, that’s very important.

As I walked into the building, I noted there was a metal detector that everyone had to pass through. This was installed because of an incident about a year ago when some nut-job tried to bring a butcher knife into the building, claiming that he wanted to give it to his lawyer.

Anyway, having just seen the metal detector, I realized I was still carrying a pocket knife, so I did a quick about-face and started back toward the parking.

Now stop for just a moment. It’s important to understand what this looked like through the eyes of the deputy at the metal detector. He sees this casually dressed dude with orange inmate-like shoes, an old t-shirt, and sunglasses, who, upon seeing the metal detector, abruptly turns around and leaves.

It’s situations like this where completely innocent behavior can be interpreted as very suspicious, and any good law enforcement officer would likely be suspicious of my behavior. I simply needed to leave my knife in the car — he saw a shabbily dressed man who didn’t want to walk through a metal detector.

Having returned to the building entrance, I prepared to get my friend and walk to a local cafe for lunch. I now noticed a second deputy standing at the entrance.

As I approached, I did what most people are expected to do. I placed my phone, my keys, and my change in the little wooden box, gave it to the officer, and walked through the Scan-A-Tron 5000.

No beep. Cool.

Considering I had a metal cross around my neck, I had the feeling that I snuck one by them. Hope they didn’t spend too much money on that monster, because it missed three metal two-inch nails in the shape of a cross.

Then the officer asked what my business was in the building. The rebel in me might have said, “This is a public building and I don’t have to tell you why I want to go into a public building.”

But I knew the guy was just trying to protect my friend in the performance of his duties, plus I’m not real fond of cavity searches, so I politely said, “I’ve got a lunch meeting with Judge Watkins.” (Actual name changed to avoid embarrassing him).

The look on that officer’s face was similar to the look on a man’s face having just been told that his wife is pregnant with triplets. Utter disbelief is hardly descriptive.

And I could understand his reaction, so I reached for my billfold to extract my attorney ID card issued by the Ohio Supreme Court. Just then, the other deputy who had just finished a thorough scan of my phone, change and keys, held up my key and said “What’s this sir?”

I’m still squinting a little because the sun was very bright outside and it was somewhat dim inside this 50 year old building.

Squinting a little more, I started to say it was the key to my Buick. I mean, there was only one key and it said “Buick” on it – “What did it look like? A blasting cap?”

Of course, I didn’t say that out loud, although my lips were forming the “w” sound. Then I noticed he was pointing to something else on the key ring.

Again, the officer spoke, “Did you know you had a handcuff key? They are illegal to possess.”

In my best impersonation of a lawyer, I said, “It belongs to my son and I don’t believe it’s illegal to possess them.”

By this time, the other officer had looked at my ID and my driver’s license, and being mostly satisfied that I was not a threat to anyone, he pointed toward the steps to the second floor leading to Courtroom A.

I took my keys and ID and thanked them.

As I entered the rear of the courtroom, the bailiff looked at me with deep suspicion. Word travels fast so I held that handcuff key tightly in my fist.

He quietly stopped me and, in a very professional tone, pointed out that I should not wear shorts in court. I introduced myself and said I had a lunch meeting with the judge. He smiled and said he was watching for me to arrive and said it would be a few minutes longer.

He suggested going on back to his office to wait, but I said I would like to sit in the back of the courtroom and watch the carnage for a few moments.

I walked over to the bench in the rear and sat with about six other people who were clearly also unaware of courtroom clothing codes. Most of this group had obviously shared a carton of cigarettes before coming inside, as they collectively reeked of tobacco.

Two guys had tattoos on their necks which appeared to have been inked by a drunken Stevie Wonder. Two girls had tattoos on their ankles and the customary tattoo which started on their back just above the thong line and disappeared into the nether region.

I looked over my shoulder at the bailiff, but he just shook his head as though saying “Hey, you wanted to sit there!”

You can learn at lot by being quiet and listening. People will divulge information without asking.

For example, of my six bench mates, two were facing an OVI charge and two others were charged with public intoxication and possessing illegal fireworks. That didn’t surprise me, considering we had just celebrated Independence Day, also known as “Let’s All Get Drunk And Light Explosive Materials” holiday.

I’m not sure about the other two, but they could have fallen into either or both categories.

Sitting there, I decided to have a little fun. I asked one of the girls if she knew anything about this judge. One of the guys, overhearing my inquiry, said something like “He’s supposed to be a nice guy.”

The girl to whom I spoke said “I just hope he’s in a good mood today.”

In a somewhat whispered voice, and pretending I didn’t hear well, I said, “I heard he’s really tough on drunk driving and illegal fireworks ever since that accident last year.”

You could see the blood draining from their faces!

One of the guys said “What happened last year?” I replied, “I’m not sure, but it was something about his house catching on fire from some bottle rockets and some drunk neighbors.”

Just then the bailiff called one of the men to the front. I said, “Best of luck, dude.”

The girl asked me “What are you here for?” I looked down at my Alice’s Restaurant shirt for a moment, then said “Littering.”

I got up and went out in the hallway to wait.

That was enough fun for the day.

Dennis Mattingly is a resident of Sabina.