Crime on the Rails
I’ve been a civil defense lawyer, a plaintiff’s lawyer, a criminal prosecutor, an administrative hearings officer and even consulted with criminal defense attorneys. But in my decade of professional legal work, I have never been a witness in a criminal trial. With any luck, that run is about to come to an end when I will be called as a witness in a Harrasment trial in September. If I can not find a way to work the phrase “you can’t handle the truth” into my testimony I will have to consider it one of the biggest failings of my legal career. Keep your fingers crossed.
The crime (alleged) to which I was a witness took place in the dark, sorded world of MAX light rail travel. As you may know if you read this blog, I have already discussed MAX activity that should be criminal such as long, loud cell phone conversations and long, uninterrupted periods without bathing before riding MAX, but now comes the sinister true story of real MAX crime.
The worst part of this story is that it is all true. I find it is easier to make an event a good story when the facts are mundane enough that you can choose your own exaggeration. Not that I would ever intentionally mislead my “audience,” but a little puffery in the name of entertainment is a staple of anything worth reading. Sadly, no hyperbole is required in this tale or really even allowed the space to seep in. It is all too ridiculous to begin with to exaggerate. Still, it’s worth telling.
On a hot Portland afternoon (yes we have some) like any other I made the walk from my office building down to catch the MAX train for the ride home. As with any other day walking in downtown Portland I passed by several gaggles and flocks of crazy people who, when they are not busy with their chosen form of self-mutilation are roaming the sidewalks talking to unseen participants in their conversations who are, apparently, quite annoying judging by the angry tone of most of these folks. Still, for my money, the guy who looks like a dock worker in a skirt or the obese woman with the wig that looks like a terrier or even the overly-tanned, concaved chested really old guy yelling incoherently at no one in particular all seemed quite normal compared to the caustic woman I was about to encounter.
MAX was packed that day. I almost never get a seat, but on this day I barely had anything to even hold on to. That was ok though because people were jammed in around me such that I would have had nowhere to fall even if I lost my balance. If memory serves, it was the first stop after I had boarded the train when a man came on with a handicap assistance dog. I don’t know what the man’s handicap was. He didn’t appear to be blind or walking with a limp or inclined to think Dane Cook is hilarious, but he had a small dog with the trademark “is that dog stuffed?” demeanor and saddle blanket identifying him as an assisting dog.
On every MAX train there are designated areas where handicapped and elderly people get priority when it comes to seating. The signs clearly state that an able-bodied person is to relinquish the comfort of mysteriously stained formed plastic to allow a person for whom standing is medical risk, a place to sit down,….usually next to someone who has apparently traded their shower and other personal hygiene products for a double bacon cheeseburger with everything on it.
Now, just to provide a bit of background to anyone who is not from Portland, people from Portland are nice. We let people merge in front of us on the freeway. We greet total strangers in the street and offer assistance with no thought of remuneration. We generally tolerate people from California and would never allow our hotel heiresses (if we had them) to eat a messy hamburger while washing a car on TV. People in your state might be beautiful or smart or rich, but here we are nice. There are some exceptions of course, but for the most part, people here are nice.
All of that niceness means that people follow the rules on MAX regarding giving priority to the elderly and handicapped even when you can tell that they really, really don’t want to.
So, when the guy got on with an assisting dog and made his way quickly to the handicapped seating section, I expected that he would not even have to ask before some nice Portlander gave up their seat without a second thought. Clearly on this day I misplayed my yearly moment of optimism.
The guy and his dog made his way through the crowd to the special seats. The two seats were occupied by two well-dressed, middle aged, very normal looking women. The man with the dog addressed the woman sitting directly in front of him as she was talking on her cell phone. The man’s demeanor in making his request was extraordinarily calm. It was as if he had fallen asleep just prior to getting on the train, but managed to keep walking and talking.
The man with the dog said something like, “may I have your seat for my dog?” I remember his words because my first thought was that maybe the dog was handicapped and the man was going to have his dog sit up on the seat. Anyway it was just strange enough to draw my attention away from the various oddly dressed and adorned folks that rode along with me.
The woman looked up at him quickly and glared at him as if he had just asked her to remove her top. She barked, “NO!” as her only response. And then she went back to her cell phone conversation in a loud somewhat shrill voice that she was apparently convinced the rest of us wanted to hear.
Let me tell you, this did not go well with the nice Portlanders around the woman with the cell phone. People retaliated with a chorus of gasps, sighs, and tisk tisks that sounded like it was ready to move toward full blown booing and hissing like the woman with the cell phone was a villain in a silent movie. Quickly, one nice guy leapt out of the seat across the isle from the woman with the phone and offered his seat.
To my disappointment, the man with the dog did not in fact have the dog hop up on the seat, but instead simply sat down with the dog calmly and obediently curling up underneath him on the floor.
As soon as he sat down, the man with the dog took out a cell phone and called (I assume) Tri-Met (the local transit authority). In his semi-conscious calm, the man with the dog began to explain that he had asked a woman to give up her seat in the handicapped section and she had refused. The woman with the phone overheard the report and responded as if he had just thrust an active hornet’s nest into her socks. She went absolutely nuts.
First she yelled at the poor soul on the phone with her that some man was harassing her. Then she declared to everyone that “she worked for a lawyer and that she was going to call him right now.” She said it as if it would be really threatening and I remember wondering why anyone, the man with the dog included, would care in the least that she was calling a lawyer. I mean what was going to happen? Was she going to hand him the phone so the lawyer could bully him with logic? Maybe he could have bored him to death? Tough to say really, but she seemed to think it was a dramatic move.
The man with the dog continued his report and with every word out of his mouth, the woman with the phone became more angry and less rational. She began looking around to the others on the train looking at all of us as if to say, “can you believe the nerve of this handicapped loser.” We all responded in horror at the mere inference that we could be allied with her and quickly set about making comments like, “hey, this is your fault” and “you’re in the wrong here lady” and “how dare you wear those white shoes before Memorial Day.” You know, stuff like that.
That only ramped things up further. The woman called her “lawyer” and then hung up the phone with great satisfaction as if he had said, “I will be right down to intimidate all the people around you until they are all apologizing and agree to flog themselves nightly for a week.” But that wasn’t enough. She then started swearing and yelling at the guy until finally her insanity reached it’s zenith (at that time anyway) and she kicked the guy in the shin.
I can not properly convey how unprovoked this insanity was. The guy was ubercalm. His dog the same. She was just plain nuts.
The kick resulted in another phone call and complaint which resulted in the woman’s head beginning to rotate 360 degrees as she began spewing a mysterious green liquid and hissing in an ancient tongue.
The train stopped at my stop and I got off. To my delight, the woman with the phone got off and the man with the dog followed. As he exited he called to the woman, “stop ma’am, you are under arrest.” I was thinking, “oh wow, is this guy a cop?” No, even better he was attempting the oft discussed, but rarely seen citizen’s arrest. At this the woman fled up the stairs to the main parking area and began screaming for help.
“HELP!!!! HELP!!!!, THIS MAN IS HARASSING ME….HELP, HE’S INSANE, HE’S GOING TO HURT ME OR AT LEAST CREEP ME OUT WITH HIS MYSTERIOUSLY CALM DOG.”
It was quite a scene. At this point, the man with the dog, who was about as threatening as a caged teddy bear, just hung out near by continuing to ask the woman to wait there for the police to come. I was concerned that she might skew the facts against her would-be arrester and offered the man with the dog my business card in case he needed a witness. She began screaming at me “What are you doing? What are you doing? He’s evil, you’re all evil.”
I turned away just as her hair became snakes and she began turning other MAX riders into stone. Fortunately, I escaped.
Tri-Met has brought proceedings to ban her from riding the MAX or bus lines. And, in the interest of justice, a criminal complaint was filed against her for criminal harassment. It is set to go to trial in early September and yours truly has been called to be a witness.
I can hardly wait.
Here’s my dream scenario:
Defense Atty: “Isn’t it true, that when you saw this woman defending herself from this aggressive man and his vicious attack animal, you ordered a code red?”
Me: “What do you want from me, I’m telling you her head was spinning like a top!”
Defense Atty: “I just want the truth!!”
Me: “You….
Well, you know the rest. Hey, it could happen.
I’ll tell you how it goes at trial.
The crime (alleged) to which I was a witness took place in the dark, sorded world of MAX light rail travel. As you may know if you read this blog, I have already discussed MAX activity that should be criminal such as long, loud cell phone conversations and long, uninterrupted periods without bathing before riding MAX, but now comes the sinister true story of real MAX crime.
The worst part of this story is that it is all true. I find it is easier to make an event a good story when the facts are mundane enough that you can choose your own exaggeration. Not that I would ever intentionally mislead my “audience,” but a little puffery in the name of entertainment is a staple of anything worth reading. Sadly, no hyperbole is required in this tale or really even allowed the space to seep in. It is all too ridiculous to begin with to exaggerate. Still, it’s worth telling.
On a hot Portland afternoon (yes we have some) like any other I made the walk from my office building down to catch the MAX train for the ride home. As with any other day walking in downtown Portland I passed by several gaggles and flocks of crazy people who, when they are not busy with their chosen form of self-mutilation are roaming the sidewalks talking to unseen participants in their conversations who are, apparently, quite annoying judging by the angry tone of most of these folks. Still, for my money, the guy who looks like a dock worker in a skirt or the obese woman with the wig that looks like a terrier or even the overly-tanned, concaved chested really old guy yelling incoherently at no one in particular all seemed quite normal compared to the caustic woman I was about to encounter.
MAX was packed that day. I almost never get a seat, but on this day I barely had anything to even hold on to. That was ok though because people were jammed in around me such that I would have had nowhere to fall even if I lost my balance. If memory serves, it was the first stop after I had boarded the train when a man came on with a handicap assistance dog. I don’t know what the man’s handicap was. He didn’t appear to be blind or walking with a limp or inclined to think Dane Cook is hilarious, but he had a small dog with the trademark “is that dog stuffed?” demeanor and saddle blanket identifying him as an assisting dog.
On every MAX train there are designated areas where handicapped and elderly people get priority when it comes to seating. The signs clearly state that an able-bodied person is to relinquish the comfort of mysteriously stained formed plastic to allow a person for whom standing is medical risk, a place to sit down,….usually next to someone who has apparently traded their shower and other personal hygiene products for a double bacon cheeseburger with everything on it.
Now, just to provide a bit of background to anyone who is not from Portland, people from Portland are nice. We let people merge in front of us on the freeway. We greet total strangers in the street and offer assistance with no thought of remuneration. We generally tolerate people from California and would never allow our hotel heiresses (if we had them) to eat a messy hamburger while washing a car on TV. People in your state might be beautiful or smart or rich, but here we are nice. There are some exceptions of course, but for the most part, people here are nice.
All of that niceness means that people follow the rules on MAX regarding giving priority to the elderly and handicapped even when you can tell that they really, really don’t want to.
So, when the guy got on with an assisting dog and made his way quickly to the handicapped seating section, I expected that he would not even have to ask before some nice Portlander gave up their seat without a second thought. Clearly on this day I misplayed my yearly moment of optimism.
The guy and his dog made his way through the crowd to the special seats. The two seats were occupied by two well-dressed, middle aged, very normal looking women. The man with the dog addressed the woman sitting directly in front of him as she was talking on her cell phone. The man’s demeanor in making his request was extraordinarily calm. It was as if he had fallen asleep just prior to getting on the train, but managed to keep walking and talking.
The man with the dog said something like, “may I have your seat for my dog?” I remember his words because my first thought was that maybe the dog was handicapped and the man was going to have his dog sit up on the seat. Anyway it was just strange enough to draw my attention away from the various oddly dressed and adorned folks that rode along with me.
The woman looked up at him quickly and glared at him as if he had just asked her to remove her top. She barked, “NO!” as her only response. And then she went back to her cell phone conversation in a loud somewhat shrill voice that she was apparently convinced the rest of us wanted to hear.
Let me tell you, this did not go well with the nice Portlanders around the woman with the cell phone. People retaliated with a chorus of gasps, sighs, and tisk tisks that sounded like it was ready to move toward full blown booing and hissing like the woman with the cell phone was a villain in a silent movie. Quickly, one nice guy leapt out of the seat across the isle from the woman with the phone and offered his seat.
To my disappointment, the man with the dog did not in fact have the dog hop up on the seat, but instead simply sat down with the dog calmly and obediently curling up underneath him on the floor.
As soon as he sat down, the man with the dog took out a cell phone and called (I assume) Tri-Met (the local transit authority). In his semi-conscious calm, the man with the dog began to explain that he had asked a woman to give up her seat in the handicapped section and she had refused. The woman with the phone overheard the report and responded as if he had just thrust an active hornet’s nest into her socks. She went absolutely nuts.
First she yelled at the poor soul on the phone with her that some man was harassing her. Then she declared to everyone that “she worked for a lawyer and that she was going to call him right now.” She said it as if it would be really threatening and I remember wondering why anyone, the man with the dog included, would care in the least that she was calling a lawyer. I mean what was going to happen? Was she going to hand him the phone so the lawyer could bully him with logic? Maybe he could have bored him to death? Tough to say really, but she seemed to think it was a dramatic move.
The man with the dog continued his report and with every word out of his mouth, the woman with the phone became more angry and less rational. She began looking around to the others on the train looking at all of us as if to say, “can you believe the nerve of this handicapped loser.” We all responded in horror at the mere inference that we could be allied with her and quickly set about making comments like, “hey, this is your fault” and “you’re in the wrong here lady” and “how dare you wear those white shoes before Memorial Day.” You know, stuff like that.
That only ramped things up further. The woman called her “lawyer” and then hung up the phone with great satisfaction as if he had said, “I will be right down to intimidate all the people around you until they are all apologizing and agree to flog themselves nightly for a week.” But that wasn’t enough. She then started swearing and yelling at the guy until finally her insanity reached it’s zenith (at that time anyway) and she kicked the guy in the shin.
I can not properly convey how unprovoked this insanity was. The guy was ubercalm. His dog the same. She was just plain nuts.
The kick resulted in another phone call and complaint which resulted in the woman’s head beginning to rotate 360 degrees as she began spewing a mysterious green liquid and hissing in an ancient tongue.
The train stopped at my stop and I got off. To my delight, the woman with the phone got off and the man with the dog followed. As he exited he called to the woman, “stop ma’am, you are under arrest.” I was thinking, “oh wow, is this guy a cop?” No, even better he was attempting the oft discussed, but rarely seen citizen’s arrest. At this the woman fled up the stairs to the main parking area and began screaming for help.
“HELP!!!! HELP!!!!, THIS MAN IS HARASSING ME….HELP, HE’S INSANE, HE’S GOING TO HURT ME OR AT LEAST CREEP ME OUT WITH HIS MYSTERIOUSLY CALM DOG.”
It was quite a scene. At this point, the man with the dog, who was about as threatening as a caged teddy bear, just hung out near by continuing to ask the woman to wait there for the police to come. I was concerned that she might skew the facts against her would-be arrester and offered the man with the dog my business card in case he needed a witness. She began screaming at me “What are you doing? What are you doing? He’s evil, you’re all evil.”
I turned away just as her hair became snakes and she began turning other MAX riders into stone. Fortunately, I escaped.
Tri-Met has brought proceedings to ban her from riding the MAX or bus lines. And, in the interest of justice, a criminal complaint was filed against her for criminal harassment. It is set to go to trial in early September and yours truly has been called to be a witness.
I can hardly wait.
Here’s my dream scenario:
Defense Atty: “Isn’t it true, that when you saw this woman defending herself from this aggressive man and his vicious attack animal, you ordered a code red?”
Me: “What do you want from me, I’m telling you her head was spinning like a top!”
Defense Atty: “I just want the truth!!”
Me: “You….
Well, you know the rest. Hey, it could happen.
I’ll tell you how it goes at trial.
Comments
Let's put it this way...she will not make that mistake again.
Ever.
They are all about to have a head on collision with the Stump Reality Tour. She's gonna wish that she gave the dog her seat AND took him out to dinner.
And besides...she's just whacked.
I do pray that you get to use the “you can’t handle the truth” line in the trial. My students thought I was crazy when my opportunity came this past year. A teacher 2 rooms down had sent me an email asking about the validity of a story that one of his students had told him in an attempt to get out of a detention for being tardy.
When the bell rang to change classes I stepped outside in the busy hall and yelled, “You want the truth!” My colleague picked up on my drift and yelled back as students and teachers were staring at us much as you did at the Medusa Lady, “I want the truth” to which I responded, well you know. It was great fun. Good luck at the trial.
Hey, can you order a “Code Red” for an unruly student?
I so miss the subway! But hey, we've got a port here in Stockton which means we have docks. Time to head down there for some hilarity.
one less scary lady on the transit system would be brilliant.. i'm feeling a bit safer already.
can't wait to hear how this turns out...
oh. .and congratulations...i hope it works out for you.
Anyway, I really had a difficult time getting past the comment about allowing people to cut in front of you in traffic. Sort of made the whole story seem just a bit contrived. Really, do people allow others to cut in front of them in traffic??? I'm stunned! But I'm from California, so what can I say. It's like, you know?
Dad
Peggy, Me too. I do expect to make a difficult witness for the defense to cross-examine, but lawyers are sneaky and tricky so we'll see. I'm thinking of taking my blog post in and reading into the record.
Sharie, Yeah, for all my bragging about how nice we are I do admit that I all to frequently see young men ignore the many women and elderly standing around them as they enjoy their seat. Makes me angry every time. Sometimes I just reach over and throw the guilty party out of their seat. Ok, so not really, but I've thought about it.
Cwinwc, excellent story. I'm fairly certain I did not have any teachers cool enough to even try such a thing. Good work.
Randy, Do you watch the wire? If so, you can only hope that there is someone like Ziggy from the second season on your docks. As for my memoirs, I've already settled on an opening sentence which goes, "You all know me as the crown prince of the largest privately owned island country in the world, but once upon a time the food rules that afforded me my power were a simply blog entry forshadowing tyranical dictatorship that would come." I would prefer to start with a long run-on sentence, so I'm still looking to add to that, but that's the idea.
Leslie, now that you mention it, I am helping to make MAX a safer place. I am filing for superhero status immediately. I will give you all the credit for this epiphany. Now, cape or now cape?
Greg, it's completely true. I found that when I was driving my H2 all I would have to do is wave a toy gun in the direction I wanted to go and people rushed to let me in. Just nice people here I'm telling you.
Dad, Of course not. I mean you were trained originally as a journalist, and unlike lawyers, I'm sure they would never exagerate the truth just for a story. Especially not the "Action News" team.