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  • Scott Gardner

Practicing in SW Va. - Sick leave

Updated: Oct 11, 2019


[delayed publishing due to vacation] - One of the perks of working from a home office is that when you're not in court, you can sit around in pajamas or boxers during work hours. Well, I'm coming off of a day and a half of hurling from a bout of food poisoning. Before you immediately respond, I know what the odds are and yes, it was food poisoning. At 10am, I manage to crawl to my computer to pull up documents for my case in Roanoke at 11am, hopeful I can survive a local hearing. In the dark, in my boxers and t-shirt, not having had a shower, shaved or eaten in two days and there's the email - case in Rke cancelled and we need you in another jurisdiction at the same time. (which happens to be almost 2 hours away). The next 5 minutes are a flurry of me sticking my head under the sink, throwing on a suit and slicking back the animals in my hair. Fueled by two spoons of applesauce and a handful of saltines, I determine if I drive 15 miles over the speed limit, I can arrive at court about 20 minutes late. (Not your venue Jill Deegan). Forty-five minutes later, things are looking good - I've notified the court and held down the saltines. But then, the flagman. A lost brother from Duck Dynasty holding a stop sign. Two minutes... five minutes... seven minutes...tick, tick, tick, then he turns the sign. I may have spun a few rocks in his direction as I pulled away but I notice that there's no construction, no wreck, nothing. In my weakened state, I didn't notice that the man wasn't wearing a hard hat, reflective gear or holding a radio, nothing. On my return trip, no traffic, no sign of anything except this old-timer holding the sign. Any other day would have prompted investigation. 45 minutes late and court is another video hearing - me standing in front of a 40 inch screen face timing with a judge half a Commonwealth away. As I'm scratching out a low breath argument I glance to the bottom right of the screen to see a box with a high definition image of Herman Munster wearing my suit, wrinkled, crooked tie and all. The facebook age app in real time. Its alarming, somewhat nauseating. I lose all train of thought and ability to speak. My next recollection is waking up to a vision of a sharply dressed 30-something, pressed suit, gelled hair, holding a cup of coffee, wrapping on my car window at a Sheetz gas station. "Are you okay? For a minute I thought you might be dead." "Yeah, fine...thanks for that." I open my door just enough to see his perfectly shined wing tips jump out of the way from some projectile saltines and applesauce. Going to put this one in the loss column. #anyonehavesomelisterine.

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