Fun with Mindless Mushbrained Bureaucrats at Juvenile Court

There is nothing in life that can provide so much amusement as dealing with the Mindless Mushbrained Bureaucrats at the Juvenile Court. (Uh, maybe certain things may be somewhat more amusing) But, it can be a hoot IF you can stay above it all and keep your good humor.

Herewith my latest encounter with the Soviet apparatchiks at the Juvenile Court in a Massachusetts city that shall not be named. The Marx Brothers, were they still alive, could have used this episode as the inspiration for a script called, "Day at the Juvenile Court". On second thought, maybe it would only qualify for a Three Stooges flick.

My mission was a simple one: Get an affidavit (a statement under oath) filed by a Massachusetts Dept. of Children and Families Social Wrecker when she lied to the court to kidnap my client's child. That paper was in the court file, and I needed it. But these were professional bureaucrats, dang it all, and they sure weren't going to give it up without a fight.

My wife stayed in our car which was parked illegally outside of the Juvenile Court building, because the socialist traffic planning overlords didn't provide any parking spaces near the court. It would not occur to said overlords that zillions of people might like to drive to a court building in a car.

So, alighting from my vehicle, I sighed a thousand sighs, and headed for the Dept. of Circumlocution, knowing the ordeal which awaited me.

I bounded up the steps, into the court building (pronounced "cawt" in Boston), endured the proctology exam supplied by the TSA wannabes at the court entrance, and then stepped smartly into the clerk's office. Of course they heroically attempted to ignore me and not help, but despite their best efforts, an official Mindless Mushbrain Bureaucrat ("MMB") finally had to come over to, uh, "help".

I asked for the file that I needed by name, and the MMB asked me for the case number, which I didn't have handy, but which is easily accessible on the court computer, of which at least twenty were close by. However, the MMB said that the computers didn't work from 1:00 to 2:00. I guess they needed a lunch break. Maybe the computers paint their fingernail extensions blue and discuss their dates from last night.

So, back out to my car to get on the cell phone and raise someone who had the file, so I could get the case number. After some calls, I got the case number and returned. The MMB now acted like the guard at the entrance to The Land of Oz, ("Oh, that's a horse of a different color") and happily extracted the file from its hiding place.

I found the affidavit paper in the file, and asked the MMB for a copy. No can do. You have to get photocopies from the copy of the report on the third floor, at the probation department, not from the copy in the file open on the counter. In MMB-land that makes perfect sense. Everywhere else, people are hitting their heads on whatever hard surface is in proximity.

Off to the elevator. However, you can't get there from here. The elevator has no buttons, and only those with a secret key can get on it. For us mere mortals, only a guard can let you use the elevator by turning a key to open it. The gummint is deathly afraid of the people, you see, who may need a copy of a paper from their file.

The guard gallumped over and turned the magic key, and the elevator opened. Soon (well, maybe not soon) it transported me to a third floor world which was quiet and peaceful, totally unlike the first floor, with no hordes of pained and fearful parents who have had their children kidnapped. It did, however, contain a new batch of MMBs.

Upon polite inquiry, one MMB gave me the old "we're at lunch" routine, and then grudgingly decided to "help". Could she please get me a copy of the affidavit that is in the file? Well, not really. "We don't have them here any more. They're in the basement now."

"Why?", says I.

"Cuz". Oh, that explains it.

"And, the person who has that file is out today". Now, why does that not surprise me? However, my good humor is yet undimmed.

Eventually, an MMB frumped around and went to the basement to get the paper I needed, and uttering vituperative epithets, made me sign on my oath that I wouldn't show the paper to anyone. Mercifully, no blood was involved.

When I finally got back to my car, my poor wife had been waiting so long, she was about to send a search party in.

So, unless you are ready to brave MMBs, better stay home and leave such important work as getting a piece of paper from a file to the professionals. In all seriousness, if the father whose child was kidnapped by DCF had wanted to get his own case information himself, they would not have even let him look at the file, never mind get in the secret elevator.

What a system.