I'm All About Civic Responsibility
This just in, from the "never-writing" CG…I’ve been pulled away from my non-writing yet again by, of all things, jury duty (which, when you think about it, is actually a pretty legit excuse). Although I’m technically still a potential juror, I’m currently on a little reprieve until next week. Though I can’t share any scintillating details about that, I can provide you with this little nugget about Our Judicial Process, in all its glory: more than a few people with whom I share the same county-space are annoying FREAKS. And I’m not talking plaintiffs or defendants.
Now, before anyone gets all hot and bothered about a) the fact that I should be grateful for the opportunity to serve and that we live in a democracy, rather than some police state led by a sadist with a really bad dye job, or b) my assumption that I am completely free of freakish qualities of my own (anyone who knows me, e.g. ESG, could assure you I have a boatload o’ annoying traits trailing me like a garbage barge), let me say this: there’s no better people-watching around, anywhere, than in the basement jury room of my local government center. It’s just that having to interact with certain elements of the general hoi polloi on a close, personal basis for an extended period is, on some days, a little more than I can stomach. I mean, if it weren’t for Johnny and Sid (Combat Kids), I’d pretty much prefer to ride out my remaining days in comfy isolation somewhere, with a copy of The Sheltering Sky (the book, not the movie), my collection of Replacements CDs, and an endless supply of junk food. Included on my hit list (not to be confused with my Hit Parade):
Wine Connoisseur Guy…at every available break in jury selection process for the first case I was called on, grabbed the only other man on the panel and droned on to him endlessly about merits of pinots (apparently, there are none, although his wife favors them) and cabs (he prefers the “deep, full-bodied, heady reds”, which sounded more than slightly obscene at just after 9 a.m. on far less caffeine than I normally consume by that time). His hapless victim was chosen, I presume, because he was the only other man on the panel (must, therefore, agree on pinots?) and because, as I found out, he lives in the same tony suburb as Wino. After a good five minutes’ diatribe, Hapless Victim’s eyes glazed over and he appeared to be contemplating a swan dive off the catwalk on which we were waiting to the atrium below. I watched all this while munching on the sandwich bag of Frosted Mini-Wheats I’d so frugally brought with me (because I’d paid a boatload for parking and I’m cheap -- see, a quirk -- but at least I was trying to chew quietly), wondering: would these taste good with a nice Chardonnay?
The I Had No Idea You’d Actually Ask Me To Appear Twins…two people, totally not related – Boy-Man and Frowsy Woman:
1) Boy-Man: eighteen, maybe nineteen years old, tops. Several prior court appearances (not as a juror), several traffic accidents (ascertained this during voir dire). Working as a gas station attendant, but “planning on going back to school” – umm, I’m thinkin’ not so much. Sleeping during breaks. Also from tony suburb – why did this not surprise me? When excused as a juror, seemed completely perplexed that we’d actually have to go back down to the jury room to be called for other cases. On our second day, appeared in the jury room precisely one hour after we were supposed to be present for attendance. Seen hovering just outside the jury office looking dazed and confused. I’m planning to use “general stupidity/excessive marijuana use” as an excuse the next time I’m asked to serve, as it appeared to work pretty well for him.
2) Frowsy Woman: Velour-type dress, unbuttoned down to HERE and up to THERE; however, hanging-out slip hem indicated at least some modicum of modesty. Or a misguided attempt. Stiletto-heeled, patchwork boots. Apparently suffering from laryngitis or an affected whisper (to get out of serving, perhaps?). She asked a woman seated next to me if we “have to sit here [the jury selection room] for the whole day”. When her name was called for a panel, rather than responding to the clerk by either saying “Here” or raising her hand, stood up in a rather labored way and shuffled very slowly over to the screening area. Not sure what happened after that, but I’m thinking it can’t have been good.
Heavy-Breathing Man…sat next to me in the jury box for one case. At first I thought the heavy breathing was a health issue and felt kind of bad for him, but then he turned the breath on me and…yep, smelled like someone had been drinking the night before (I’m guessing neither pinots nor cabs). Periodically turned to stare at me, more than a little disconcerting (and challenging) since I was only seated about a foot away. Also, had a hard time maintaining focus on the courtroom goings-on, which would have been excusable since the judge for this one was rather long-winded. However, the rest of us, including me, were at least appearing to listen to the instructions by looking in the general direction of said judge; Heavy Breather looked everywhere BUT at him, including for a minute or two at the ceiling, which had a not-very-interesting pattern on it not worth more than a glance (yep, I checked).
Obviously, I live to serve. The only other interesting side-note I can come up with at this point: during one of the security screens, during which a court officer checks you and your belongings for weapons, the poor twenty-something single (again, I checked – no wedding band) Officer Guy unzipped and inspected the little zippered pouch in my purse where I keep the tampons.
“Sorry,” I said, which was really quite dorky on my part. Sorry for what? That I’m a woman? That I keep those supplies in, of all ridiculous places, my purse? That it’s his job to look for contraband and occasionally unwittingly encounter something he’d rather not see?
“No problem,” said Officer Guy. “I’ve seen a lot worse.” Why am I so not surprised?
(P.S. – I do write. I actually worked on revisions to my novel in the jury room’s media center during one of my breaks. So there, City Pages.)
Now, before anyone gets all hot and bothered about a) the fact that I should be grateful for the opportunity to serve and that we live in a democracy, rather than some police state led by a sadist with a really bad dye job, or b) my assumption that I am completely free of freakish qualities of my own (anyone who knows me, e.g. ESG, could assure you I have a boatload o’ annoying traits trailing me like a garbage barge), let me say this: there’s no better people-watching around, anywhere, than in the basement jury room of my local government center. It’s just that having to interact with certain elements of the general hoi polloi on a close, personal basis for an extended period is, on some days, a little more than I can stomach. I mean, if it weren’t for Johnny and Sid (Combat Kids), I’d pretty much prefer to ride out my remaining days in comfy isolation somewhere, with a copy of The Sheltering Sky (the book, not the movie), my collection of Replacements CDs, and an endless supply of junk food. Included on my hit list (not to be confused with my Hit Parade):
Wine Connoisseur Guy…at every available break in jury selection process for the first case I was called on, grabbed the only other man on the panel and droned on to him endlessly about merits of pinots (apparently, there are none, although his wife favors them) and cabs (he prefers the “deep, full-bodied, heady reds”, which sounded more than slightly obscene at just after 9 a.m. on far less caffeine than I normally consume by that time). His hapless victim was chosen, I presume, because he was the only other man on the panel (must, therefore, agree on pinots?) and because, as I found out, he lives in the same tony suburb as Wino. After a good five minutes’ diatribe, Hapless Victim’s eyes glazed over and he appeared to be contemplating a swan dive off the catwalk on which we were waiting to the atrium below. I watched all this while munching on the sandwich bag of Frosted Mini-Wheats I’d so frugally brought with me (because I’d paid a boatload for parking and I’m cheap -- see, a quirk -- but at least I was trying to chew quietly), wondering: would these taste good with a nice Chardonnay?
The I Had No Idea You’d Actually Ask Me To Appear Twins…two people, totally not related – Boy-Man and Frowsy Woman:
1) Boy-Man: eighteen, maybe nineteen years old, tops. Several prior court appearances (not as a juror), several traffic accidents (ascertained this during voir dire). Working as a gas station attendant, but “planning on going back to school” – umm, I’m thinkin’ not so much. Sleeping during breaks. Also from tony suburb – why did this not surprise me? When excused as a juror, seemed completely perplexed that we’d actually have to go back down to the jury room to be called for other cases. On our second day, appeared in the jury room precisely one hour after we were supposed to be present for attendance. Seen hovering just outside the jury office looking dazed and confused. I’m planning to use “general stupidity/excessive marijuana use” as an excuse the next time I’m asked to serve, as it appeared to work pretty well for him.
2) Frowsy Woman: Velour-type dress, unbuttoned down to HERE and up to THERE; however, hanging-out slip hem indicated at least some modicum of modesty. Or a misguided attempt. Stiletto-heeled, patchwork boots. Apparently suffering from laryngitis or an affected whisper (to get out of serving, perhaps?). She asked a woman seated next to me if we “have to sit here [the jury selection room] for the whole day”. When her name was called for a panel, rather than responding to the clerk by either saying “Here” or raising her hand, stood up in a rather labored way and shuffled very slowly over to the screening area. Not sure what happened after that, but I’m thinking it can’t have been good.
Heavy-Breathing Man…sat next to me in the jury box for one case. At first I thought the heavy breathing was a health issue and felt kind of bad for him, but then he turned the breath on me and…yep, smelled like someone had been drinking the night before (I’m guessing neither pinots nor cabs). Periodically turned to stare at me, more than a little disconcerting (and challenging) since I was only seated about a foot away. Also, had a hard time maintaining focus on the courtroom goings-on, which would have been excusable since the judge for this one was rather long-winded. However, the rest of us, including me, were at least appearing to listen to the instructions by looking in the general direction of said judge; Heavy Breather looked everywhere BUT at him, including for a minute or two at the ceiling, which had a not-very-interesting pattern on it not worth more than a glance (yep, I checked).
Obviously, I live to serve. The only other interesting side-note I can come up with at this point: during one of the security screens, during which a court officer checks you and your belongings for weapons, the poor twenty-something single (again, I checked – no wedding band) Officer Guy unzipped and inspected the little zippered pouch in my purse where I keep the tampons.
“Sorry,” I said, which was really quite dorky on my part. Sorry for what? That I’m a woman? That I keep those supplies in, of all ridiculous places, my purse? That it’s his job to look for contraband and occasionally unwittingly encounter something he’d rather not see?
“No problem,” said Officer Guy. “I’ve seen a lot worse.” Why am I so not surprised?
(P.S. – I do write. I actually worked on revisions to my novel in the jury room’s media center during one of my breaks. So there, City Pages.)
posted by TwinsGoddess at
6:47 AM
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