The Easy Way Out
I won’t lie and say I didn’t know what I was doing was wrong from the very beginning. I did, I do, and even now, standing in front of you all, I’ll freely admit to it. Doing otherwise after a conviction is wasting energy on an unfixable problem—and I didn’t get to where I am in life by not fixing problems when they spring up.
Instead, I want you to consider the law. Pleasantville Penal Code 6.4.z says that, for the mere crime of stealing millions from billionaires (multi-billionaires, I might add), that I should be thrown in prison for thirty years.
How much is thirty years worth? To me, it’s a lot. Almost twice my age now. I’ll come out of prison having missed what many men consider their primes, their thirties and forties, when the hormones of the teenage years and personal drama of the twenties go away and a man can start building a life of success, if he’s smart and hard-working enough. I was smart and hard-working enough (and maybe a little dishonest), and now I’ll be robbed of my time to really shine because of one mistake.
These men won’t miss those millions. They spent more than that in their attempt to get me in the most trouble possible. Think about that. I may as well have stolen five dollars from the wallets of any one of these jurors for the inconvenience my crime will cause my so-called victims.
And what do they get for their inconvenience? Only my first 30 free years, when I slaved and smiled and nodded to improve their prospects for a fraction of my worth. Nevermind the inconveniences their own thefts caused me, because the system says that is the fair way of doing business. What, I ask, is fair about paying a man fifty thousand dollars for the brunt of his waking hours in a given week?
Though I must submit to the punishment, and I will be a model prisoner—even though I know this won’t bother a single one of you—I will only survive by the bitterness I hold toward the grossly disproportionate nature of this punishment.
If the
Instead, I want you to consider the law. Pleasantville Penal Code 6.4.z says that, for the mere crime of stealing millions from billionaires (multi-billionaires, I might add), that I should be thrown in prison for thirty years.
How much is thirty years worth? To me, it’s a lot. Almost twice my age now. I’ll come out of prison having missed what many men consider their primes, their thirties and forties, when the hormones of the teenage years and personal drama of the twenties go away and a man can start building a life of success, if he’s smart and hard-working enough. I was smart and hard-working enough (and maybe a little dishonest), and now I’ll be robbed of my time to really shine because of one mistake.
These men won’t miss those millions. They spent more than that in their attempt to get me in the most trouble possible. Think about that. I may as well have stolen five dollars from the wallets of any one of these jurors for the inconvenience my crime will cause my so-called victims.
And what do they get for their inconvenience? Only my first 30 free years, when I slaved and smiled and nodded to improve their prospects for a fraction of my worth. Nevermind the inconveniences their own thefts caused me, because the system says that is the fair way of doing business. What, I ask, is fair about paying a man fifty thousand dollars for the brunt of his waking hours in a given week?
Though I must submit to the punishment, and I will be a model prisoner—even though I know this won’t bother a single one of you—I will only survive by the bitterness I hold toward the grossly disproportionate nature of this punishment.
If the