Seriously, Jury Duty?


I just knew when I hesitatingly filled out the initial paperwork for jury duty that I would be receiving the next call. Or letter. My husband laughed, accidentally, I think, when I opened and read the neon letter and repeated several awkward combinations of cuss words. That didn’t even make sense. “What did you just say?” I don’t even know. It was like a seventh grader cussing for the first time. It really defeats the purpose, when you suck at cussing.  I was opening the dreaded mail late at night, on an empty stomach and a tired body, so that didn’t help the situation. There probably is not any time of day that I would have been jumping for joy at opening that neon orange notice, errr, invitation? No, more like a warning. Why couldn’t they slip a $20 into the envelope too?

I know, all too well, unfortunately, about bright neon card stock warnings. There’s no eighties skate-center fun coming from those bad boys. Why couldn’t they choose beige, grey or mother of pearl colored warnings? Stuck to our door. Shouting, “Hey! Look. The World’s worst bill payer.” That’s me. Yeah, yeah, why don’t I get on the auto-bill paying ship? All aboard! It’s such a commitment. Motion sickness. Oops, I thought I paid that water bill. Time sure does fly…when you’re not paying bills. Handed to me, awkwardly, as we play in our front yard. I promised the gas man I would stop pitching baseballs and head into the house, immediately and pay the bill. Embarrassed and feeling like I got sent to the principal’s office. How ridiculous. That gas bill didn’t pay itself. I always need to irrationally blame someone or something else before taking full responsibility for my lack of actions.

It was years ago that I sat frustrated and hungry in the jury box area. I stated what I did for a living, and the judge asked if there was any other reason why I should not be chosen for jury duty. I could easily think of a hundred reasons. “Well, right now, I’m currently on bowel rest for surgery in two days. Do you need any details about the heinous stuff going on with my rectum? I know I just met all of you guys. Is this too much information? Will that bit of insight buy me a ticket back out into the court room bleachers?” I didn’t dare say all that I thought. I didn’t want to be held in contempt. I’ve seen that happen on law TV shows. Serious stuff. The judge stated that I may have to postpone my surgery. I almost lost it, well I did, in my head. If, the prosecution or defense, I don’t know, couldn’t find another non-judgemental, capable juror that they liked as much as me, then I would have to serve. I was in my twenties and I worked in a kids hospital. Ahhhh. It was a man being discriminated in a hospital case. I just knew I would be chosen. The poor college girl that I had befriended over that nasty coffee, without cream, got chosen in my place. Whew. Sorry, new friend, you’ll be amazing, I think. My jacked-up intestines saved the day. Bowel rest, carry on. I didn’t even claim the mileage on my taxes.

So, April 27, 2015, what will you be doing? I’m booked. I will report for jury duty. On the roughest day of the week, Monday. After working all weekend. All the while, my husband has never been chosen. I’m just a little bitter, like a home grown lime. Actually, those babies are extremely bitter. And, who am I kidding? I’ve written a whole post about it. I’m extremely bitter. I have tried thinking about the positives. I may make a new best friend. Or I could hold the door for somebody. Thinking. thinking. And I’m done. Fresh out of optimistic thoughts. Man, that coffee was awful. Now, I’m back to what I can stratigically wear or look like or even do to get out of being chosen. Copious amounts of blue eye shadow and red lipstick? A mini-skirt and stilletos? Should I start watching the local news and reading newspapers like it’s going out of style? It kind of is. I will just try and not think about it. For a few more weeks. I should just pretend it’s a bill that I need to pay. Good plan.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s