In-Justice, Part I: Scalia

I am beginning to think perhaps it's me.  Like one of those dogs that just has a scent that makes other dogs attack him.  I must give off an anti-Justice scent (note the capital "J").  Stay with me...

About three years ago, I was out to a late lunch with my now-boyfriend, whose parents own a couple restaurants in Denver.  His dad called to tell us that Justice Scalia had come into one of the downtown restaurants for a late lunch and encouraged us to stop by.  We grabbed our check and started making our way to the restaurant, talking quickly about what we could ask Scalia and desperately trying to remember some of his biggest (but not controversial) Supreme Court decisions.

As second year law students, the prospect of meeting a United States Supreme Court Justice was almost unfathomable.  Needless to say, we were nervous.

We walked into the restaurant, which was almost empty given that it was 3 pm, and were immediately greeted by secret service agents standing at the bar.  We explained we were second year law students and that my boyfriend's father was the owner of the restaurant, and we had heard from him that Justice Scalia was in for lunch (undoubtedly on his way to a fly fishing trip in the mountains).  We asked if we could go over and introduce ourselves.  The secret service officers had mixed opinions.  One immediately said no while the other immediately said "of course."  They looked at each other and each did a halfway nod, mulling it over.  Finally one spoke, "You can go over there and introduce yourselves, but don't stay too long because he hasn't eaten yet, and he get very cranky when he's hungry."  We laughed nervously in response, wondering what exactly they meant by "cranky."

He was reading a fly fishing book as we approached the table and lowered it only slightly in acknowledgment of our presence.  Just as we began introducing ourselves, his waitress exited the kitchen with his burger and fries.  We moved to try to get out of her way, as she moved to avoid us and Justice Scalia moved to put his book down and make room for his plate.  As she reached the plate toward the table, Scalia knocked over his large beer with his book, drenching his lunch, his table, and his lap.  His head snapped up and he glared at us with gritted teeth.  I don't even remember if we told him our names.

The secret service agents were immediately on the scene, yelling at us to get away from the table.  "WHO LET THOSE KIDS COME OVER HERE AND RUIN MY LUNCH?!?!"  He barked at them, as we backed away from the table apologizing profusely to him, the agents, the waitress and anyone else who would listen.

We retreated to the bar, dumbfounded and shaking our heads at each other, asking over and over, How did that HAPPEN?!? After getting him set up at a clean table with a fresh beer and a new lunch on its way, the secret service agents came back to the bar.  We couldn't apologize enough.  They were nice and took pity on two terrified law students who had just witnessed first hand the wrath they dealt with every day.  They took the blame (which I suppose they're paid to do), telling us it was their fault for letting us go over there in the first place.  When we asked what we could do to fix it, they told us in no uncertain terms that the best thing we could do would be to leave and hope that his second attempt at a burger and fries goes more smoothly.

I decided that day to become a transactional attorney, thereby totally and completely eliminating any chance that I would ever have to argue in front of the United States Supreme Court.