by LSF Publications
by Jeff Chadwick
Thirty-two-year-old Brooke slipped on her nightgown, poured a cup of coffee, and sat at the kitchen table. Bleary-eyed, she looked over yesterday's unopened mail. An official looking envelope marked 'Corrections Department' caught her attention. She opened it and read the contents. Then she read again, to make sure the words were real.
To: Ms. Brooke Erica Hoffman (ID# 26630149937)
This letter serves as official notice that Brooke Erica Hoffman is summoned to appear at the Southside Corrections Facility at 9 am on March 7, 20**, to receive judicial corporal discipline as per sentencing in Circuit Court case #4761002. Attendance is mandatory. Petitions for postponement must be applied for at the Correctional Facility at least 3 days (excluding weekends and public holidays) prior to a scheduled disciplinary session. Postponements are granted only for medical reasons. If an emergency situation arises that prevents attendance at a session, an emergency petition must be applied for within 3 days (excluding weekends and public holidays) following the scheduled disciplinary session. Failure to comply with these conditions will incur additional penalties.
The words made no sense. What sentence? Brooke had never been to court, ever. Was this some kind of mistake? Was it a joke? Confused and more than a bit panicked, she called the number listed on the letter.
After twenty minutes navigating phone menus, she finally reached a bored-sounding operator. "Ma'am, you are definitely in the system for a twenty swat discipline session. What for? I'm sorry ma'am, I can't seem bring up the records of your court case. No ma'am, I don't know why they aren't available. They should be. There have been some computer issues lately. You'll need to talk to someone in person, ma'am, there's nothing I can do here."
Obviously it was some kind of mistake. Brooke worked a part-time contract with a PR firm, and was a freelance writer on the side, so she figured she was entitled to take a day off to go deal with it. She got showered, dressed in a simple blouse and skirt combination, and drove to the facility as quickly as she could. But not so quickly that she'd run the risk of a ticket. That would be a bad idea right now, she suspected.
Judicial corporal punishment had been proposed right about when Brooke graduated from journalism school. Her first big splash as a wet-behind-the-ears newspaper writer came with a column supporting the idea. She'd argued it was much more humane to dole out a sound strapping to minor criminals, rather than relegate them to the overcrowded and brutal prison system, which was less likely to reform them than to turn them into hardened criminals. That had gotten her journalism career off to a flying start.
The judicial CP program was hugely successful, and in the last year it had been extended from its initial focus on non-violent drug offenders and minor property crimes to cover misdemeanors such as disorderly conduct and traffic violations.
That definitely gave Brooke something to think about. The very idea of corporal punishment intrigued her for some reason. Maybe that was because it was something she'd never experienced in any form, even as a child. What would it be like to be taken in, bent over a bench, and given a sound whipping on her backside for some crime she'd committed? Not that it was likely to ever to happen to her, she'd thought, when it was only druggies getting whacks.
But traffic offenses were a different matter. She could be a distracted driver at times, and it was entirely possible she could be subject to such penalties. She knew of a friend-of-a-friend who had gone in for a strapping for something like that, and the little she'd heard about it sounded awful. The prospect of having to bend over for a leather strap across her bare bottom had turned her into a much more careful driver, she had to admit. That proved to her that threat of such penalties really did work, at least.
But where had this summons come from? She hadn't had any traffic tickets for years, or any other confrontation with the law for that matter. They couldn't sentence you if you weren't present in court, she knew, and she had never been in court.
When she got to the correctional facility, the place was busy; unable to find a space in the parking lot, she found a meter on a side street. She fed the meter up to the 3 hour maximum. That should be more than enough.
Once inside the correctional facility, she was directed to a crowded waiting area. Even though the building had been built less than ten years earlier, the waiting room looked old and drab, with faded carpet and torn seat-covers. As she sat there, she wondered if she ought to call a lawyer. But she didn't have a number for one. The closest she could think of was her friend Sandi's fiancée. He was a top-notch tort lawyer, but he probably wouldn't be much help here. After about 40 minutes her name was called, and she was directed to a cubicle.
"Hi Brooke, I'm Mike," the middle-aged man said as she took out the letter.
"Hi Mike," Brooke answered smoothly. "I'm wondering if you can help me with this letter I just got. I think it should be pretty obvious it is some sort of mistake." Brooke explained that she was sure she had not been convicted of anything. After she made her case, Mike tapped at his console, while Brooke distractedly studied the family pictures posted on the wall of Mike's work area.
Eventually, Mike said, "Well, ma'am, I can't find any transcripts or documents of a court case under the number in the letter, or any court records connected to your name. You do have a sentence of 20 strokes of the punishment strap on file, listed as for a drunk-and-disorderly, but I'm pretty sure that has to be a mistake, like you said. There was a bit of a computer snafu a few weeks back. Some people didn't get notice of their punishment dates because of it, I know. This is the first time I've heard that someone got a summons in error, though."
"Good. So I'm not in trouble," Brooke said, visibly relieved.
"It will take a while to get the sentencing record expunged," he said, not exactly answering her question. "I'll file the extraordinary circumstances paperwork on it. That usually takes a month or so to go through, but I don't expect any problems. Ma'am," he added, standing up. "Could you stand up for a minute?"
She stood up from the chair as he came to stand behind her. "Please would you put your hands behind you, ma'am," he requested. Puzzled, she put her hands behind her back, and was shocked when he grasped right forearm. He slapped a plastic handcuff on her wrist, then quickly did the same to her other wrist before she could react.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing? Stop it! What is going on, here?!" she exclaimed.
"I am terribly sorry, ma'am, but I don't have any choice in the matter. Please calm yourself, ma'am," he added as he gently pushed her back into the chair. "I'd rather not call security, but I will if you make a scene."
She subsided, mostly from shock, and perched on the seat. The cuffs chafed a little on her wrists. Officer Mike sat down in front of her. "Your discipline session was scheduled for last Thursday, ma'am. You didn't appear, so that means you are now officially listed as delinquent."
"But, but," Brooke stammered, "I'm innocent, mister. You just said so yourself!"
"I know ma'am. I can deal with the sentencing error, and I promise I'll get right on that paperwork, but I can't do anything about the delinquency flag on your file. That's handled by a different department. It's my duty to apprehend anyone known to be delinquent for corporal punishment, and it's more than my job is worth to ignore it. This must all seem unfair to you, ma'am. It's a real screw up, all right."
"This is so unfair," she said, trying to force back the tears. She had never been in trouble with the law before, and the reality of the situation she was in was beginning to dawn on her. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a slow, deep breath. "Alright officer, I'm sure there's some way to repair the situation. Yes? Tell me there's something I can do. Please, officer?" Her request came out more pleadingly than she'd meant.
"Well, if you'd come in yesterday, you could have filed for an emergency stay. I don't know that it would get approved - your situation is highly irregular, to say the least - but it would buy you a couple of days while getting processed. But the window for emergency stays closed three business days after your discipline session was scheduled, so you can't do that now."
"But I only got the letter yesterday!"
"Well, ma'am, the letter is really only a formality. It's assumed you were informed of the place and date of your punishment session at your sentencing hearing."
"But I didn't have a fucking sentencing hearing. Did you not get that part?!" she shouted, stomping her feet loudly as she did.
"Young lady, calm yourself NOW." Mike's sudden sternness startled Brooke. "I understand you're upset, ma'am. But I will not tolerate a scene in my office. Miss, if you do not behave yourself, I will have security take you straight to detention, and I'll write you up for punishment myself. Do you understand what I've just told you, ma'am?"
Brooke gulped. "Yes, sir. I do. Please excuse me. I lost my temper for a minute. I promise it won't happen again," Brooke replied meekly. "This is just so frustrating, you know."
"That's entirely understandable, ma'am. But for your own sake, I'd advise you to keep your temper under wraps while you're in custody, if you really aim to make it out of here without a licking." He stood up again, picking up her purse from his desk. "I'm taking you to 'Delinquency'. I'll explain your situation, and they'll be able to help you."
He took her arm and escorted her out of the cubicle, and back through the waiting area. She avoided the gaze of the people waiting there, feeling the shame of being led in handcuffs in front of them like a common criminal. She was marched down stairwells and through a maze of corridors until they reached a door marked 'Delinquency Department'.
There was no waiting area or members of the public here, only cubicles and sun-starved office workers. Mike led Brooke to a wall, and told her to stand facing it. She heard Mike talking to someone, a woman. After a while he came back and spoke to her. "I asked Marge to look at your case. Don't worry, you'll be in good hands. She'll get to you in a minute, after she attends to some other things first. Wait here just like you are, facing the wall. Remember that you are officially in custody, so don't go anywhere without permission; you probably don't want this day to get any worse for you, I'm sure."
Brooke gulped and nodded silently.
"Good! Don't you worry, ma'am. Just let Marge handle things, and I'm sure you'll be fine."
Brooke smiled wanly.
"Miss, I hope I've been able to be helpful to you today," he added incongruously. "When this is over, I hope you'll visit the corrections website to fill our the customer service survey, and let us know how well I was able to assist you today. I'm Mike Jones."
Brooke had no idea how long she had to stand there. It reminded her of her childhood punishments, when she was made to stand in the corner for some misdeed or another.
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