In a Hartford Courtroom, Grant Wanted the House Until a Little Purple Toy Started Playing
Grant and Hale had no copy of the purple toy phone files, and neither of them knew a court-approved audio technician had certified the recording transcripts on Friday morning.
They thought I’d walk into Courtroom 3B with nothing but a spoken plea for visitation.
I laid the yellow notepad next to the blue dress and picked my wristwatch up off the nightstand.
The little second hand swept past twelve, creeping toward six in the morning.
I switched off my desk lamp with my court notebook organized and ready.
At four minutes to nine, the double doors of Courtroom 3B clicked shut.
I smoothed the front of my blue dress and sat down at the self-represented litigant’s table, laying my black notebook flat on the oak.
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