14 April, 2025
- Black Lawyer
- Apr 14
- 2 min read
Entry No. 187: “The Grill, The Gavel, and the Missing Trousers”
Filed under: Evidence, Embarrassment & Elastic Waistbands
Dearest Diary,
Some hearings proceed with dignity, grace, and the illusion that justice is both blind and fully clothed.
And then there was the year 2020.
A Zoom hearing. Standard. Mundane. The sort of docket filler one assumes will end with mild perjury and a polite motion to compel.
I had on a blazer, lashes, and a zoom filter. The holy trinity of pandemic litigation.
The judge entered, muting us all with the divine hand of God.
We began.
The witness was called—an ex-boyfriend, to be precise.Appeared onscreen with a blinding smile and a Wi-Fi signal clinging to life.
But not a smile, Diary.
A grill.
Chrome.
Custom.
Possibly cubic zirconia, possibly evil.
It shone like it had survived three mixtapes and a missed child support hearing.
He was asked to raise his right hand.
He did.
Dramatically.
Swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.
And then… we descended.
Upon cross-examination, opposing counsel asked if he had ever “acted aggressively” toward my client.
He denied it.
Loudly.
So loudly, in fact, that his grill launched itself from his mouth like a rogue spaceship escaping low Earth orbit.
It hit the camera.
Clink.
Mute.
Chaos.
He panicked. Bent to retrieve it. And in that single motion, dear reader… stood up.
He forgot he wasn’t wearing trousers.
There he was—on Zoom—in SpongeBob boxers, swearing, shouting, and scrambling for his dignity beneath the glow of a ceiling fan and what I’m fairly certain was a wall-mounted liquor shelf.
The judge remained composed.
The clerk gasped.
My client turned off her camera and whispered, “God really spun the block on him today.”
He tried to sit back down like nothing happened.
“Sir,” the judge said, voice steadier than it had any right to be,“You appear to be underdressed.”
To which he replied, and I quote:“I didn’t know y’all could see the lower third.”
Sir. This is not a weather broadcast. This is family court.
It only got worse.
He reinserted the grill with the dexterity of a raccoon rifling through a vending machine.
Then, when asked about an incident at a bar, said:“Your Honour, I may have thrown a lemon, but it wasn’t with intent.”
It took everything in me not to object on the grounds of citrus-based nonsense.
Eventually, he was dismissed. His grill glinting. His knees bare. His future grim.
Because in law, as in life, you may enter the courtroom with attitude, but if you leave pantsless and pearled in dental chaos—your testimony may not survive appellate review.
I remain, as ever—Poised. Pantsed. Protected by Litigation Fatigue.
Disclaimer:This entry is a fictionalized satire. Any resemblance to actual people, grills, or exposed thighs in court is entirely coincidental—but almost certainly preventable.
Tag someone whose entire court strategy hinges on surprise accessories and invisible pants.
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