Grand Theft A$$hole Part 2: Redemption Day

In the criminal justice system, auto theft-related offenses are considered especially heinous (not really, but we'll pretend).

In Salt Lake City, the dedicated legal experts who prosecute these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as Utah's Third District Court. These are not their stories. This is the story of the snarkiest witness that the Third District Court has ever seen.

Upon apprehending the MENSA reject that stole my car, the case was turned over to the Salt Lake County prosecutor's office. Based on my limited knowledge of the legal system, I knew that I was possibly due some restitution as the result of my troubles. In September, the gem that stole my vehicle had received a court date. I just had to call the court to find out more information. After screaming "representative" at automated systems for the better part of an hour, I was finally transferred to the "waiting on hold" level of purgatory- a level with which I am unfortunately all too familiar.

Finally, a receptionist connected me to a lawyer- a man who sounded so old that his first trial out of law school was probably the Salem Witch trials. 

I read him my case number and he said, "Ah yes, the 2007 Civic."

"No, the 2011 Jeep Wrangler," I replied.

"No, it says here that he stole your 2007 Honda Civic." (This lawyer had obviously been slacking since his work in the Dredd Scott case.)

"I think I know what kind of car I had stolen!" I shouted.

"Oh, ok, yes, you have to talk to [another prosecutor]. This is for the last car he stole."

"How many has he stolen?" I asked, incredulously.

"In the last year, about three," he responded before giving me the contact number of the other lawyer. "The first two were Hondas, but he upgraded with yours."

Great. I feel super special now. 

Actual errors that I found.

After talking to the second lawyer, he emailed me the Victim Impact statement, a statement which I found two grammatical errors in. (I'll be sending the state of Utah an invoice for my editing services.)

The Payback
After tallying up everything that insurance didn't cover, plus the cost of my deductible, impound fee, etc., I came to a total of $1100 that I had lost due to this jackass.

The form asked if I had experienced significant emotional trauma due to the crime. I decided to not push my luck and said "no." (I can just see the public defender saying "Your honor, I would like to introduce Exhibit A: Grand Theft A$$hole."  I submitted the form and noted his sentencing date on my calendar (October 14).
 

Just Like Law and Order (kinda, sorta, not really)
I showed up for court and took a seat behind the prosecutors in the front row. As it was a sentencing, the judge was scheduled to hear about 20 cases over the course of the hour. 

During the recess before the hearings, one of the prosecutors said hello to me, so I asked him what was going to happen. He explained the process and asked if I, as the victim, wanted to make a statement. 

"Abso-freaking-lutely," I responded, smiling as if he had just given me an early Christmas present.

A Mother's Love and the Law
They were still on recess when the woman sitting behind me tapped me. I turned around.

"You're so pretty," she said.

"Thank you!" I replied.

"My son here is single," she said, pointing to the man in her 30's sitting next to her.

"Uh......" I replied, completely unsure of what to say.

"Say hello Bryan, you said she was pretty," she prompted as she nudged her fully grown adult son.

He said hello, not as embarrassed as most people would have been in that situation.

"What are you here for?" his mom asked me.

"My Jeep was stolen. I'm here for my restitution," I replied.

"I'm here for assault," the guy mumbled. "Dude had it coming."

"Bar fight," his mom explained, as if that cleared it all up. "He's a really good guy though, I promise."

Thankfully I was saved by the call to rise for the honorable judge.

My Opening/Closing Statement
My case was the third one called. The defendant was escorted into the courtroom, handcuffed, and in his Salt Lake County prison uniform. He hung back in the corner and had elected not to speak, rather allowing his public defender to speak for him. The douchebag was being charged in three separate cases (a misdemeanor drug charge, two felonies for another stolen car, and two felonies for my car). After reviewing the first cases, the prosecutor called me to the stand. 

As I walked to the stand, I can only assume that a court reporter would have described my demeanor as "smirking."

The a-hole suddenly seemed a lot less tough as he sunk back into the corner of the door, almost snuggling with the sheriff who had escorted him in. He lowered his eyes, knowing that he was in for a roasting of some sort, probably wishing that he had stuck to stealing Hondas.

Now this stand wasn't a witness stand, but more of a podium in which I faced the judge and two lawyers. My back was to the audience and I could barely see the defendant out of my peripheral.

"Miss Zorka, can you please tell me a bit about how the crime impacted your life?" the judge asked.

"Yes your honor," I responded, launching into an explanation of how I lost hours at work, money, my possessions, and my quality of life suffered, using "your honor" and other random legal terms as much as possible, channeling the legendary ADA Alex Cabot as I did so. (I always knew someday that almost two decades of primetime cop dramas would come in handy.) 

He asked me a few questions and reviewed my restitution request, which I had put into a neat spreadsheet.

Restitution- with a Dose of Snark
"I'm approving full restitution, a hearing for which will be held at a later date in the near future. How does next Thursday sound for counsel?" he asked the lawyers.

The prosecutor had something else going on, so they went back and forth on a few dates.

"How about October 31 at 1:30 pm?" the judge asked, clearly annoyed.

"I'm taking the day off. It's Halloween. I have kids," said the public defender.

"Do kids celebrate Halloween all day now?" the judge asked, not pulling any punches or even attempting to hide his sarcasm.

The courtroom snickered and the lady lawyer mumbled an incoherent response, probably trying to slink out the door herself.

(At this point I regretted not going to law school, if nothing else for the fact that someday I might be a judge an dole out justice in the most sarcastic manner possible.)

The restitution hearing was eventually set for November 22. He was sentenced to 90 days in county jail, with 75 credited for time served, followed by three years of probation. (If my restitution is not paid or he breaks the terms of his probation, he will face 10 years in the state prison.)

Finally, the judge asked, "Miss Zorka, is there anything that you'd like to say to the defendant?"

(Now, this is when people typically say that they hope the accused gets on the straight and narrow, that they find Jesus, or that they are praying for them. At the very least, they tell the defendant how much suffering and hardship they caused. However, we know that I'm far from typical.)

I turned towards the douche-canoe, who by this point, was staring straight down at the floor, and spoke:

"You're an idiot. You should have at least chopped the car. You'd have money and wouldn't be here right now."

I immediately turned and walked back to my seat as the courtroom (judge included) burst into laughter. On the way back to my seat, I was high-fived by three people in the audience. The woman behind me told me that she expected one of the assistant prosecutors to propose to me right then and there. The defendant didn't look up the rest of the trial.

Moral of the story: Mess with the bull, you get the horns, buddy.

[Removes sunglasses, walks into sunset.]