This chapter starts with some dialogue between Jimmy-boy and a prison guard at a juvenile detention center. Apparently, his sixteen year old son became the kingpin of a drug cartel. How? That would make a much more interesting story.
However, since the author is disinterested in discussing anything interesting and only discusses the fallout, I am going to assume his son had a pot plant and sold a couple joints to some friends. It's right on par with the rest of this book.
The guard says: "All I am ordered to do this."
I recognize that sometimes people misspeak in real life. Generous, kind-hearted carbon-based life form that I am, I can attribute this to that. Once. Even if most authors don't include this.
Jim tries to pull the "Do you know who I am!?" with the prison guard.
This is Jim's official haircut in my mind until proven otherwise.
"Just one more touch of the guard's hands and he would have slugged him senseless. How degrading it was."
Oh, you mean like the cavity checks you've subjected your son and countless other people to?
The guard keeps interrupting Jim-boy. Seriously, he's cut him off three times in one brief conversation. That might amount to some of Jim's jimmies being rustled, but most of his irritation comes from being subjected to having to remove things from his pockets. Like you do at an airport. But you see, our hero is a prosecuting attorney and that means he's important and important people shouldn't be subjected to standards. They're special. The entitlement--oh Flying Spaghetti Monster.
"The juvenile was his sixteen-year old son, the one he cherished enough to give his complete name."
What does that say about any other potential kids? "We should name them all Jimmy, Mrs. Watkins. If we don't, it means we don't care about the others as much." Or, more likely, he just loves this one best because he has a penis and is his firstborn son, because that's important for some reason. Seriously though, why bother having a Junior? Oh, I just didn't know what to name my kid. Or is it really about stroking your own damned ego's little peen? There are probably valid, decent reasons for this, but none are offered.
"My boy, in these demeaning generic clothes," Jim grieved to himself. "How can it be?"
Oh, sweet Princess Peach, what a piece of shit. Are you wearing... *dun dun duuuuunnnn* generic clothing? The horror! Yeah, guys, this is what we mean when we say words like "privilege" and "entitlement."
Jim focuses so completely on the generic clothing and "abhorrent lack of decor" that one wonders if he had actually seen another prison before. The book claims earlier in the chapter that he has, but I'm suspicious. Also, why the fuck does a bare table cause him so much grief? Dude, you obviously grew up wealthy.
Some part of me genuinely hopes this is a life-changing experience for old Jimbo and he changes his career path to help the disenfranchised, stop for-profit prisons, lobby for help for addicts instead of prison, and tries to end the war on drugs. Another part of me laughs and says, "Yeah, fucking right."
"Yes, the designer of this place was successful. They were suffering."
This would have been a perfect opportunity to utilize ye olde semi-colon.
...
What the fuck, dude? People are suffering because they have an unpainted table with no decor and plain white walls? Seriously?
What we really need are our walls painted a nice salmon color and maybe a tablecloth...
Fuck you, James. Seriously, fuck you.
The word choice for this scene is simultaneously interesting and slightly horrifying if you are obsessive like me and over-analyze things.
James sits with his son for fifteen minutes and says nineteen words to him, not a single one of which is "I'm sorry" or "I want to help you" or anything of that nature. More disturbing, not once does the author, in James' perspective, ever mention young Master Jim's name. He is consistently "his beloved son" or just "his son", or, even worse "his 'prize'". Even other characters only refer to him as "your son". This bothers me because it subtly implies that Drug Lord Jim isn't really seen as a person, but merely as an extension of James. I do some writing occasionally as a hobby, and when a character isn't important or I want the reader to remember that character a particular way, they don't need a name. So why does Drug Lord Jim not get a name himself?
Maybe I'm giving Proctor too much credit.
Drug Lord Jim's defense lawyer is a woman. This so surprises James that when his secretary announces the lawyer's arrival his only response is: "Her?"
Rose Ann Sharone, defense lawyer, is described as a "tremendous" defense lawyer, whatever that means and is from "Anderson, Kennedy and Holms". Oxford comma, dude.
So how does Jimmy boy respond to her? "Do have a seat in this comfortable chair."
Who the fuck talks like that?
She explains that she has been with her company for a year and this is her first assignment. What the fuck was she doing for a whole year? Sitting on her ass? I'm going to assume it involved lipstick on Anderson, Kennedy and Holms' collective foreskins. She says she "prayed about" her first case. So, what, women are only allowed to take cases after everyone prays and they decide that the Magic Sky Wizard says yes? Her first case since working there a whole fucking year?
"This woman has real class, from within." -- Jim's thoughts on Rose Ann.
Classy.
He asks her out to dinner. I guess we are supposed to assume that he is super suave and intelligent, using deductive reasoning, such as she doesn't introduce herself as "Mrs." and doesn't have a ring on her finger. How very respectful of him to assume she isn't in a relationship with someone. Seriously, Jim, go fuck yourself.
Rose Ann is all aflutter at his "intelligence" and professionalism. She ascertains that he is not married (we all know that no Christian men ever have children out of wedlock) and accepts.
Since this is the first chapter that isn't just a summarizing of events, the actual prose is terrible. "Much to his grief, however, this was a bitter reality." Or "his mind was in such a blur..." This is called "telling" rather than showing. Yeah, he's sad--fine. But all you've done is tell me repeatedly that he's sad. You haven't shown me a grieving man, Proctor. You've pointed to some guy and sad "he's sad."
Entitled little piece of goat vomit.
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