THE SIMPSON TRIAL : Trials and Tribulations : Courts: For some in the legal system, the crush of media and curiosity seekers for the O.J. Simpson case nearly forces the wheels of justice to grind to a halt.

The guy suspected of stealing her car was on trial on the inside. But it was Patricia Auger’s patience that was being tried outside the Criminal Courts building Monday morning in Downtown Los Angeles.

Auger left her Victorville home before dawn to get to court on time to testify against the suspect. She even remembered to stop in Fontana to pick up a friend to ride in with her, “so we could drive in the car-pool lane and save time.”

Too bad she forgot that O.J. Simpson’s trial was beginning on the same day, at the same hour, at the same courthouse.

There was chaos when Auger arrived. A mob of photographers and reporters jousting for a glimpse of Simpson’s attorneys blocked the door. A crowd of curious onlookers formed a tight knot behind them. And in back of them was a colorful gaggle of demonstrators trying to attract attention to their own causes.

“Only the O.J. people could go inside,” said Auger, 31. “We saw O.J.’s friend, the guy with the white streak in his hair--Mr. (Robert) Kardashian. We tried to sneak in through the door behind him, but they stopped us. They finally sent us to a door on the far side.”

As it turned out, the courthouse had a “The Far Side” cartoon look to it all day.

On one side of the building, local disc jockey Rick Dees was broadcasting his drive-time show live, offering running commentary on the circus-like atmosphere. Out front, the real circus was unfolding as Pop Zhao unfurled a huge white drop cloth and started painting himself red.

Zhao, a 31-year-old Chinese performance artist, had driven from San Francisco. He was wearing a white jumpsuit and a painted question mark on his face. As he dripped paint to the strain of classical music blaring from a boombox, he handed out mock dollar bills to bystanders.

Simpson’s picture replaced George Washington’s portrait. “O.J. Innocent,” proclaimed the writing over the picture.

The Simpson attorneys were inside the courthouse by now and reporters quickly turned their attention to Zhao. “I asked God about O.J. and God said he’s innocent, that two other people did it,” Zhao told them.

Suggested Norma Meyer of Copley News Service: “Why don’t you go back and ask God tonight what their names are and come back tomorrow and tell us?”

In the background, laughing and taking snapshots was Irene Allen. She runs the courthouse shoeshine stand. It’s called A.J.’s Shoe Shine Parlor. And O.J.’s been very, very good to A.J.’s.

“Business has tripled since the O.J. thing came here,” confided Allen, 50. “I’ve had to buy a $900 electric shoeshine machine to keep up.”

When she’s not seeing that the shoes of celebrity lawyers and celebrity news correspondents are being polished, Allen is polishing up her own celebrityhood.

“I also do a live talk show three times a week. An Illinois radio station calls up and asks what’s going on and I tell them what’s happened,” she said. “They’re paying me.”

There was a flurry of activity at noon when jurors were released for lunch. Those not called for the Simpson case came outside to look at the show. Several purchased $1 buttons from salesman Eddie Dee, 63, of La Canada Flintridge. The biggest seller: “O.J. Simpson Jury Reject: did not make the cut.”

One woman wearing a juror’s badge berated Dee--who normally sells buttons at sporting events. “Everybody’s making money on this except O.J.,” she screamed.

Demonstrator Jack Gerritsen, 58, of Bell, handed brochures demanding jury reform to jurors as they walked out. “Thanks for serving,” he said, wearing sandals with his maroon suit.

Down the sidewalk, court workers and jurors lined up at Alfredo Uycabaodeci’s hot dog cart. Fernando Mejia, a cameraman for Channel 52, helped out by making change while he waited his turn.

During the afternoon, as the first of hundreds of potential Simpson jurors were being assembled on the 11th floor, jurors in other parts of the courthouse idled away the time as they waited to be called to duty for less sensational trials.

Some played cards in the hallway. Others gossiped about the excitement outside and their good fortune at not being called for a trial that could last six months or longer, as Simpson’s might.

On the 15th floor, jurors in Judge Carlos R. Moreno’s courtroom sat placidly while a hapless defendant in a drug case tried to defend himself by acting as his own attorney.

Next door, Judge Jan A. Pluim was questioning potential jurors for another drug case. When he asked the first six if any had been a victim of crime, hands went up and a litany of burglary stories and car-theft and purse-snatching tales poured out.

In an 11th-floor courtroom, a woman stepping out of a jury box tripped, hit her head and was knocked out cold. An ambulance was summoned.

Its siren interrupted TV correspondent Lisa Stark, who was outside the courthouse filing a live report for a St. Louis station.

It was one of 15 such reports she would do this day for local ABC affiliates across the country, said Stark, of Washington, D.C. “This is a light day,” she said.

Patricia Auger, meantime, was heading back to Victorville after finally testifying in her car-theft case. It had been a heavy day for her.

“It worked out in the end, though,” Auger explained. “I was late getting there. But the judge was too.”