The Mexican Hindu

Just for the record, I'm 3/4 Mexican, 1/4 Portuguese. Why do I mention this? Because, for the bulk of my adult life, people assume that I'm Indian. Indian as in the subcontinent, not Indian as in I'm a part owner of a casino.

It's not that big a deal; when I lived in the dorms at UCLA, I was known as "Gandhi". Whenever I travel, if I run into an Indian family, I always get "the look"; they stare at me, trying to guess what caste I am, and whether or not I'm truly a member of the tribe.

I've had some fun with this. I have a slight gift for mimicry; I can produce a pretty passable Indian accent, along with French and Russian. So, whenever I'm asked if I'm Indian, I respond in a 7-11 quality Indian accent, and talk about how I moved here from Calcutta, because I think white women are really hot. That's usually good for a laugh.

I'm married to a woman who is half-Hispanic, but looks white as a ghost. So, we get interesting looks from time to time. Especially from Indian people, who stare at the striking white redhead walking with me thru the airport.

I have two stories that illustrate how much fun this is;

First was when I was a baby PD in South Gate. I was doing misdemeanors, which means you have a ton of clients every day. So, most of my clients were in custody, and I'd interview them in the big lockup cell in the back. I was done with my interviews and was back in the courtroom taking notes. An interpreter came up to me and, while laughing hysterically, told me that one of my clients wanted to talk to me again. I asked what was so funny about that. He said "The guy told me to get his lawyer. I asked him which lawyer to get. The guy said, 'I don't know his name; it's the Indian guy with glasses. El Hindu' "

So the interpreter said, "'El Hindu'. That's you, Camacho!" and kept laughing.

"El Hindu"; Spanish for "The Hindu". To this day, some colleagues still call me that.

The second story takes place in Hong Kong. My then girlfriend, and now wife, Dolores, and I were taking our first vacation together. We had started in Singapore and were now in Hong Kong for a few days before flying home. We went to the Hard Rock Cafe in Kowloon for lunch. After lunch, I had to go to the gift shop to get a shirt. Dolores and I go to the gift shop, and there are two Indian girls working the counter. Dolores and I were the only customers in the place, and while we were checking out the shirts, the girls were talking to each other in Hindi, Urdu, or some other language. And they were pointing at me. They weren't even trying to hide it. To my amusement, I watched them from the corner of my eye, and it was obvious what they were saying. "Where's he from? What's he doing with the white woman? Is he from the States? He speaks English! Is he rich?", etc.

We picked out our shirts, and I made to pay for them with a credit card. They both took the card, saw the last name "Camacho", and were shocked. They were talking, still, and this time it was "Camacho; that's not an Indian name. What's the deal with this?" I signed the receipt, took my card and bag, and as I walked out, I said "Thank you and come again" in an Indian accent. As I walked down the street, Dolores walked behind me and was silent. I turned around, and saw that she was furious. I started laughing, which is never a good thing to do when the woman you're with is pissed at you. I said, with all the innocence I could muster, "What's the matter?"

"You know..."
"No, really, I don't. Tell me"
"You know those girls were checking you out"
"Really, I hadn't noticed." I now admit, 12 years after the fact, that THIS was a blatant lie.
"Bullshit, you didn't notice!"

I admitted that I had, and pointed out their puzzlement that I wasn't Indian. To this day, Dolores doesn't find this story as funny as I do.....

So, why do I tell the story? Because today I had an Indian client come in with his father. It was a minor matter, and easily handled. But I got "the look" from Dad. He made a point to ask my name, and I could see the surprise when I said "Camacho".

It never ends.

Welcome back!

So, I had put away the blog for several long months. Finding motivation to write something every couple of days was just too daunting. However, a couple of months ago, a cousin turned me onto Facebook, and I find myself writing little things on FB every day. So, I thought that if I could do that, maybe I can return to the blog.

So, today's story comes from my life as a PD.

I had a client last week; female, charged with possession of methamphetamine for sale. What we in the business refer to as a "slinger". She was out on 20 grand bail, and was supposed to be in court on Thursday. She was a no-show, so the bench warrant went out, and the bond was forfeited. Her dad was in court, and wanted to know what happened. He spoke only Spanish, so I used an interpreter to explain that she didn't show up, and so a warrant for her arrest has been issued. He said that she was in transport from Oregon, where she was in child custody proceedings. I told him that, if you don't make your court date, this is what happens.

She comes in the next day, Friday. She explains that she's not guilty; co-arrestees are lying, and that she lost her children due to the arrest. I explain that she may have a defense, but first, I gotta get the warrant recalled and see if the judge will keep her out of custody. Even though the DA objected really loudly, the judge let my client go on her own recognizance (OR), but told her to come in today, with reassumption papers from the bonding agency, so she could be placed on the same bail that was originally posted. If the bonding agency wouldn't do that, then she would be held on the original bail amount. I gave her specific instructions as to what to do, and I told her to be in court promptly at 9am with those papers, otherwise she was going into custody.

So what happens? Today, at 9am, no client. She saunters in at 9:45am. I ask her where's the papers? She says that the agency won't give them. I told her she's going into custody. We spend the next half an hour arguing this; that she needs to be out for her kids, that she is innocent, that I'm doing nothing to help her, and I'm just trying to fuck her like everyone else. Pissed at this point, I remind her that I got her sprung last week, and it was her responsibility to take care of the bond, and if she feels persecuted, leave me out of that. She says that she paid the money for the bail, and has the receipt. Her dad is right there, arguing on her behalf, in Spanish. I tell them both that I need the reassumption papers. I call the agency, who tell me they won't issue them b/c my client still owes them money. So, at 10:30, I tell them to come into the court so she can go into custody. She's still in the hallway, on the phone negotiating with the agency. I tell her to come in, and walk into the courtroom and wait. I see Dad walk in two minutes later, grab my client's sweater from the seats, and go back out. 5 minutes later, the hallway is empty. I told the court, and the bench warrant went out.

So at 10 minutes til noon, I'm summoned to the front desk. My client, in her wisdom, left court, drove her dad to the bond company in Downtown LA and got the papers. I told her it's too late; there's a no bail bench warrant now and she'll have to appear at 1:30 to get taken into custody. We argue for 10 minutes; she claims that she got the papers, so everything is OK. I tell her she's 3 hours too late, and she left court. She calls the bond agent to get advice, and on the phone says, "and can you recommend a real attorney, because this one isn't helping". At that point, I said, "See you at 1:30".

So, at 1:30, I gave the judge the reassumption papers and asked for the warrant to be recalled and bond to be reinstated. The DA pointed out that the client insists on doing things her own way and has no respect for court proceedings. The judge doubled the bail. Dad was pissed. He says that I should've gotten her released. I told him she should've taken care of what she needed to get taken care of. He looks at me and says that if I had kids, I'd understand. As if, by virtue of having no children, I am incapable of any fucking understanding about parents and children. I told him if he knew the law, he'd understand. He asks how much is bail? I tell him. I ask him if he'd like to know when his daughter has to return to court if he bails her out. He waves me off, and says that he'll just pay to get his daughter out. I tell him that if he doesn't know when to come back to court, there'll be another bench warrant. He dismisses me and says "I'll just pay for her to get out". I gave up beating my head against the wall. I told him to have a nice day.