“Maybe you didn’t hear me. I AM A FED-ER-AL JUDGE.” The tallest and youngest-looking one stepped forward. He had a crew cut and was rather handsome in a cheesy sort of way. He was pissed. And tired.

“Ma’am, you drove into a hole that was clearly marked off-limits. I don’t care who you are.” He reached rather roughly for her arm. She jerked it away again. I was thrilled at the prospect of watching her take on—and take out—the young, buff cop.

“Helga? Helga?” It was Judge Fleck and he was crossing the street.

“Richard—THANK GOD!” She hugged him and shot the rookie an evil eye. Now the poor guy had two old people with massive egos to deal with. Judge Fleck leaned over and grabbed the cop’s hand.

“Hello, son. What’s going on?”

The cop pointed to Friedman.

“This woman. The federal judge decided to plow through various traffic signs and landed inside that manhole. We’re all lucky nobody was down there. My brother was working in there and left just a half hour earlier. She’s lucky she didn’t hurt him.” He was seething now.

“Well, I don’t have TIME for traffic signs. I am rilly busy. Maybe you’d understand if you knew anything about JUDGES. Or knew anything about ANYTHING important.” Judge Fleck took her aside, right next to me.

“Helga, you are going to be thrown in jail. Just be agreeable and I’ll get you out of this. Now PLEASE just keep your mouth shut.” Tall order for the short lady. He went back to the cop. She played coy and started smiling, strangely resembling my friend Anna’s drunk nana from Duluth.

“Sir,” Fleck had upgraded the cop from son to sir, “my friend Helga was in a hurry to get home to her husband. Her husband is really sick.” Young police officer glanced at drunk nana and looked sick with disgust. I couldn’t blame him. She had that effect on me, too. Fleck was undeterred. As chief judge of the third circuit, it would be mortifying for him if Friedman had to serve time. “She was in a hurry to get home and get back to him. Please let this go. She’s an old woman with a sick husband.” Drunk nana sobered right up.

“Tell him I’m a JUDGE,” she ordered, nudging Judge Fleck. He ignored her. Lucky for the judge, the cop just wanted her to go away. He looked at Judge Friedman much in the way the security guard had looked at me that morning, before turning to Judge Fleck.

“Fine, I’ll let it go. But please tell your old lady friend with the sick husband that if she does this again, I’ll make sure she spends a little time in prison.” He then stormed off.

Matthew and I approached the judge, and I gently tapped her shoulder. “Judge? Seems like everything is under control. We’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Judge Fleck.”

“WAIT. WAIT! SHEILA! I’ll drive you home.” No way was she driving me anywhere!