The Judge Hatchett show

I try to keep a low profile when I travel. Being recognized as a judge can turn an otherwise quiet flight into something resembling a chaotic TV courtroom.

A baseball cap and sunglasses usually help me blend in with the traveling public. But I have a distinctive voice that always seems to give me away.

I wouldn’t say that I take a vow of silence when I’m on the road, but I don’t speak up, either. I talk when I have to — like when I’m checking in for a flight. And that’s usually when the Judge Hatchett road show starts.

At the ticket counter in New York a few weeks ago, an older woman tapped me on the shoulder.

“Judge, you have to help me,” she pleaded. “My grandson is in trouble.”

How do you turn someone like that down? I called her grandson on my cellphone. He was doing poorly in school and running with the wrong crowd. It turned into something like a mini-intervention.

Then the questions started to fly from other passengers.

“Judge Hatchett, my kids are on drugs. What should I do?”

“My husband beats me. Can you help?”

“Do you know Judge Judy? What’s she like?”

Once, on a flight from Atlanta to Los Angeles, the inquisitive air travelers cornered me in the galley. We turned the kitchen into an impromptu courtroom, and there was a long line of people waiting to have their cases heard.

There was a passenger who needed advice on her child-custody dispute. Another one wanted to know if she should get married, even though her fiancé was cheating on her. And another was upset because she thought her 13-year-old daughter was having sex.

After four hours, one of the flight attendants adjourned the session.

“Judge Hatchett,” she interrupted politely. “It’s time to fasten your seat belt. We’re landing.”

Even in a place where I think I can feel free to speak, I sometimes find that silence is golden. I visited Tanzania and Kenya with my family recently. After two weeks on safari, we found ourselves at a remote landing strip in Kenya, preparing to board a flight to Egypt. One of our tour guides approached me timidly.

“I know who you are,” he said with a wink.

“But how?” I wondered. I had left the robe in Atlanta, as well as anything else that might give away my identity. Well, almost everything.

“I recognized the voice.”

Normally, my fellow travelers are accommodating when they discover who I am. But not always. On a train from Philadelphia to Atlanta a few years ago, I was mobbed by a crowd of advice-seekers in the dining car. Finally, the maitre d’ stepped in and said: “I’ve had to reheat Ms. Hatchett’s dinner once already. The next person that bothers her gets off the train at the next stop.”

A few minutes later, a woman in her 30s entered the dining car. She saw me and made a beeline to my table. “Judge Hatchett,” she started.

The maitre d’ stepped in front of her. “What did I just say?”

The traveler, who had a question about a prenuptial agreement, looked perplexed.

“It’s O.K.,” I said, coming to her defense. “She just walked in.”

I don’t always have to talk to get into trouble. At a gas station in Atlanta a few years ago, a man jumped out of his pickup truck and sprinted toward me as I was pumping gas.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m pumping gas.”

“You can’t do that,” he said. “Here, let me.” And he pumped the gas for me.

I thanked him for the help. But then he turned to me and dropped on to one knee.

“Judge Hatchett,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

Glenda Hatchett, presiding judge on “Judge Hatchett.”

Christopher Elliott is the author of Scammed: How to Save Your Money and Find Better Service in a World of Schemes, Swindles, and Shady Deals. Critics have called it “eye-opening” and “inspiring” — it’ll “grab your attention and won’t let go.” Order your copy now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or iTunes.

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