Cell phone in court

Cell phones. Can’t live without them, can’t live with them. They keep us in touch far from home or the office. They interrupt conversations and meetings. Even silenced, fingers twitch to take just a peek for messages or to see who might have called.
The urge dictates so strongly that pastors admonish folks, “please, turn off your cell phones.” The tables turned at a wedding. The ceremony began with the preacher, groom and groomsmen filing in and nervously waiting for the processional of the bride and her attendants.
An insistent buzz broke the momentary silence in the expectant room.
Attendants, musicians and guests looked around for the guilty party. Red-faced, the preacher reached in his pocket, pulled out his cell phone and turned it off as the audience quietly laughed.
“We all have been reminded, let’s continue,” he said as he pocketed his now silenced phone.
If church is a solemn place prohibiting cell phones, the courtroom multiplies the mandate many times over. Cell phones may not be seen or heard. Judges do not like to have a cell phone tweet, buzz, chirp or even be seen during their proceedings. Frequent visitors and regular court attendants know any violation could result in the phone being confiscated until the end of the day’s session of court.
Court begins with the bailiff or judge reminding everyone in the courtroom to silence all cell phones. Still, the lawyer just walking through the courtroom to talk with his client, automatically reached into his pocket when his phone vibrated. He raised it to his ear. A scowling county officer zeroed in on that phone, quickly crossed the room and held out his hand. The lawyer grimaced, smiled ruefully and handed over his phone, hoping he might get it back when court finished that day.
Seeing that once sufficed to warn any new to the court. Another day, following the bailiff’s command to turn off all cell phones, folks reached into purses and pockets and double checked. One hand slipped and hit a command button that overrode the silent mode. “I’m sorry, I can not find Internet access,” the phone mechanically complained from the dark pocket. Though muffled, it still broke the courtroom silence.
Fumbling quickly, the owner scrambled to stifle the phone. The bailiff looked. He knew this offender. He grinned, and approached the offending phone and owner. Beside the owner another frequent visitor quickly rummaged around in a bag and pulled out a large package of gum. “Here give this to him,” the visitor shoved the block of gum into the offender’s hands.
Disbelief, confusion and relief overwhelmed the offender. The gum went from owner to offender to bailiff. The talkative cell phone stayed in the pocket. The bailiff took the gum, looked at it, grinned and tucked the gum into his shirt pocket.
The judge proceeded with the first hearing. Twenty minute later, during one of the court’s many lulls in activities, the bailiff, with his back to the judge, looked over at the offender and the visitor.
He grinned broadly, elaborately reached into his pocket, pulled out the gum, deliberately took out a piece, unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. He raised his eyebrows, smiled and began chewing, obviously relishing the phone substitute.
The guilty spectators shook their heads and chuckled silently.
A couple weeks later, the cell phone offender saw the other spectator and held out a new package of gum, “To repay you for the gum.”
“What? Oh, the phone. Thanks.” The gum went into the bag and the conspirators settled down to watch another day of court. This time with both cell phones turned off and tucked safely out of sight.