When you’re a reporter, people expect you to know EV-ER-EE-THING
Someone: You didn’t know that I took three dumps yesterday?! Come on, you’re a reporter!
Sorry I don’t know about the 2.4 earthquake in China that happened six minutes ago. Sorry I don’t know about the murder that rocked in your small town of 350 more than a decade ago. Sorry I don’t know there some sort of storm thingy in the northeast right now.
Jesus, people! Get off my fucking back!!!
That whole courtroom scenario I rapped about yesterday — yeah, pretty much the same thing happened again today.
This time the guy was charged with robbing a bank back on St. Patty’s Day. Pleaded guilty a while back. Judge lectures. Hands down sentence. I leave and stake out a spot outside the courtroom. Family comes out, with red, watery eyes.
I ready my hey-I’m-a-reporter-writing-about-your-son/brother/nephew/friend-and-want-to-get-his-side speech as the door opens.
“Excuse me —”
They walk away, saying “motherfuckin’ asshole!” as I stand, pen and paper, resting right there in my hands.
White trash newspaper
Check out that lede, baby!! I am the cleverest and funniest of all the humans!!!
I tried to interview the family members of a man who was sentenced today for abusing a child back in the early 1990s.
I left the courtroom after the judge adjourned and camped out by the doors so I’d catch people as they came out.
A woman came out looking a little distraught and I asked her if she was with the family. She said no. I asked her what her association with the case was. That’s when a man got in my face, looked at me very intensely and asked me who I was.
“I’m Jon, and I’m with the [newspaper title]. I’d like to talk to you about the sentence.”
“Oh no! OH NO!” he said and started to walk away.
Then when he’d made it 10 to 15 feet, he shouted down the courtroom hallway, “We have a white trash newspaper!”
What does that even mean?
Then they complained to the sheriff’s deputies about me. He pretty much shrugged at them.
Reporter on the big story
This dog helped police take a bite out of crime.
Charlie, a Beagle-Spaniel mix, was in his owner’s SUV when it was stolen around 3:30 p.m. Tuesday from a parking lot at 16th and N streets, said Lincoln Police Officer Katie Flood.
The owner, a 58-year-old Ohio woman, reported the 2002 Chevy Trailblazer stolen and told police she left it unlocked with Charlie inside, Flood said.
A little while later, a woman called the victim to tell her she had Charlie and told officers that Candace Nichole Foster, 20, gave her the dog and asked her to see him home.
Officers went to talk to Foster and found her near her apartment, sitting inside the stolen Trailblazer with Traylon Lockett, 34, Flood said.
Officers jailed Foster and Lockett on suspicion of receiving stolen property.
Investigators wouldn’t have solved the crime so quickly if it hadn’t been for Charlie, Flood said.
“It was a quick apprehension because of Charlie,” Flood said. “People really have compassion toward all things vulnerable.”
Suck it McGruff. Charlie got you beat! <—second choice for my lede
I’m now known as the pervert reporter
It’s great being the reporter on the big story. You’re ultra relevant. When you get up, people look. When you talk, people listen. They WANT to listen.
Every time you hit the bathroom or go grab a coffee, people gather round and you hold court as your audience sits enraptured and enthralled over the slightest development.
But the best part is when you dismiss court and continue walking toward the coffeehouse with Jordan. After the door closes, in the hallway, you lower your voice. You look around and tell him there’s something way off the record you have to tell him — only him — something you can’t tell anyone else. He’s looking at you, not blinking.
“What is it?”
Then in a gravelly, almost unrecognizable voice, you tell him your secret, the one that’s festered inside your belly for so long, your eternal burden:
So I found out there was a verdict in rape trial I covered today after 3 1/2 hours of jury deliberation, and of course only then do I realize that I need to pee. So I walk down the hall in my very determined, super serious walk cause I’m a big deal and very professional.
Here’s how it went:
Open the bathroom door. See metal box hanging on the wall. I’ve never seen that before. They sell condoms in the restroom at the courthouse? That seems inappropriate, but cool I guess.
Then I read the box: Tampons. Why are they selling tampons in the men’s restroom? Oh shit! This is the women’s restroom!
Leave now! Immediately! Go!
Go to open the door, and then I’m staring face-to-face with the assistant lawyer who’s helping to prosecute the rape trial I’m covering. My face is totally beat red, and I try to make a joke about this being “super awkward!”
But it’s not my fault! The bathrooms on the floor below are flip-flopped, so the men’s restroom IS on the north side of the building and the women’s on the south.
"Lifting the lid of a Dutch oven for the first time is like opening a present and getting a surprise."