A Day in Court at the Bureau of Erotic Dancing Disputes

from the Gerbil News Network:

Two strippers have sued the club where they work for improperly classifying them as independent contractors instead of employees. -- The Boston Globe


The plaintiff

Contrary to what a lot of people think, it’s not easy being an administrative judge at the Bureau of Erotic Dance Disputes (“BEDD”). That’s a lawyer thing, putting stuff in quotes inside parentheses.

There are the threats of potential violence by disgruntled tippers. There are the, uh, “boyfriends”, hanging around for their cut of any big verdict. And there are the owners, a lower class of animal life than which you won’t find anywhere outside of the silverfish under your kitchen sink. Sorry for the “Throw your mother off the train a kiss” syntax; we judges can get convoluted when we get worked up.

But the girls–let me tell you–they’ll break your heart. They’re working so hard to put themselves through school, or to move to a better neighborhood, or to get a breast augmentation. I’ll admit it–I’m an activist judge, and if I can find any reason to rule in favor of the parade of Tiffany Ambers, Chastity Foxxes and Amber Tiffanys that passes through my courtroom day every day, I’ll jump on it like a duck on a June bug.

I put on my robe and my clerk checks my hair after my head passes through the neck hole.

“Looks okay, boss,” he says, and we’re ready to start another day meting out blind justice on behalf of women you can’t take your eyes off of.

“Oyez, oyez, oyez,” my clerk yells as I walk into the court room. I don’t know what the hell “oyez” means–I think it’s some kind of shellfish–but he has to say it. “All rise–the court of the Honorable J. Willington Ballard”–that’s me–”is now in session.”

“Be seated,” I say. “Clerk, call the first case.”


“Crystal Goblet vs. Gentlemen’s VIP Lounge II,” my clerk bawls out.

“Are the parties and their counsel present?” I ask.

“Anthony Vigliano on behalf of Gentlemen’s VIP Lounge II, your honor.”

“Counsellor, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Is there ever a Gentlemen’s VIP Lounge I, or do you just start with Roman numeral II?”

“Your honor, under adult entertainment signage regulations, you are prohibited from using a single Roman numeral I–you got to straight to II or even III.”

“And why is that?”

“I dunno–a single ‘I’ might confuse people, make ‘em think you’re an optician or something.”

“Thank you for that clarification. And on behalf of the plaintiff?”

A sultry brunette rises from the table on the other side of the room. “Crystal Goblet, your honor,” she says with a voice that’s as warm and soft as a kitten’s belly. “I’ll be representing myself.”

It is at this point that I must warn any party who comes into my courtroom and proposes to appear pro se–that’s Latin for ‘by her own bodacious self’.

. . .

http://conchapman.wordpress.com/2013/05/20/a-day-in-court-at-the-bureau-of-erotic-dancing-disputes-2/