This is not including the various shades of lawyer there to represent and defend clients: there's the 40- or 50-something ponytailed lawyer whom I've never seen in a suit, always in dress shirt and slacks or khakis. Another one seems to come straight from the eighties - salt-and-pepper goatee, unkempt salt-and-pepper mullet, rumpled suit, sometimes sneakers. He's usually short and impatient with his client's opponents. Another of the attorneys always seems to be in a bad mood, her face a puffy red as she galumphs off to another appearance, files tucked under one arm and uncoordinated purse swinging wildly about.
And of course you can't forget the judges. I only see one of them with any regularity, but he's a hoot. In contrast to his surname, Judge Little is a giant of a man who looks especially imposing when he strides into the courtroom, black robe streaming behind him. Everything about this 50- or 60-something figure is broad and measured: his frame, his gestures, and especially his speech. Little speaks as though each word were a particularly tough morsel that he must bite and chew carefully: he bares his teeth before speaking, and enunciates every syllable in a slightly gravelly, even tone. He uses the same tone even when he's joking, so it's difficult to tell at first. I remember how he prefaced one occasion when we'd appeared before him for at least the eighth time in a contentious case. To our client: "Ms. Cutler, Mr. Perfiglio has said he wants to write you a check and be done with everything." Turning to Perfiglio: "Ms. Cutler has said she is very happy with your concessions and never wants to come back here again. So what do you need me for?"
Judge Little asks tough questions of both sides, and you'd be afraid of him generally, except for moments like these. Every so often he'll also take out a large plastic container from behind the bench and start offering candy to everyone in the courtroom like a sombre St. Nick.
Nearly ten months after being on the job, it seems my own character has acquired a name: "HP Girl," referring to the type of case I usually work on. Never mind about the inaccuracy of calling a woman a girl. I've arrived at last and can now join the circus performers who make up New York's courts.*Names in this post have been changed to protect privacy.
