Like, Civic Duty And Stuff
Oh, hi.
So I had jury duty today. The mere story of how I actually ended up actually going to jury duty in the first place is kinda comical.
I was first summoned in May. The summons showed up, and I did with it what just about every other American does with it and tossed it in the garbage. About 3 weeks later, the Better Half calls me while I'm waiting at the cab stand at LaGuardia, sounding rather panicked.
Conversation goes like this:
Her: "Hey. You got something from the Cook County court today."
Me: "Oh. That's nice."
Her: "Ummm, it looks important." (Her tone of voice read YOU SON OF A BITCH ARE YOU HIDING ILLEGITIMATE TWINS FROM ME OR SOMETHING)
Me: "OK. Open it."
Her: "Dear Mr. Wilkins, You were recently issued a summons for jury duty and failed to report blah blah blah you will be issued another summons words words failure to report again will result in possibly being charged with contempt of court yadda yadda so you better show up next time to avoid potential embarassment."
Me: "Oh. Hmm. I don't remember any summons." (This is pretty easy for me to get away with. You see, we get so much junk mail every day that I typically sort through it right at the mailbox and end up throwing most of it in the garbage and heaven forbid maybe I accidentally tossed the summons out with 3 Pottery Barn catalogs and a postcard from Keller Williams Realty telling me that the unit downstairs just sold for a ton of money)
Her: "Well, when you get another one, you better go."
So that was that. Two weeks later, another summons shows up telling me I have to haul my ass down the Eisenhower in rush-hour traffic to Maywood Court on August 22nd.
And then the 22nd rolled around. So I hopped in the car and sure enough the Ike was jammed from Western all the way to 1st Avenue. I was supposed to be there at 8:30, but ended up walking in at about 8:50.
I had a backpack full of stuff to keep me occupied. For those of you that don't know me, I have the attention span of a 3 year old who's 4 hours into a 12 hour car trip. I don't sit still very well at all. I had this week's Economist and SI, the Sunday Trib crossword, this month's Wired and Golf Magazine, an inch-thich sheaf of fantasy football research and my iPod, which was chock full of exciting and informative podcasts because lord knows 26 GB of music alone isn't enough to amuse me.
So here's a rough timeline.
8:50: I stroll in and drop off my little juror survey. I took care to make sure that I answered YES both me and my spouse have been the victims of crime, and YES I am party to a lawsuit (class action against MegaDerivativesMart, my former employer).
9:00: The jury room supervisor tells us that there's a good chance we're getting called. Dockets are looking pretty full. We watch a video narrated by Lester Holt all about how trial by jury works. I sit there the whole time thinking about how good I'd be if I'd actually stuck it out and gone to law school.
9:15: Video's over. Super tells us that we're on break until 9:45. Seeing as that I just sat down, I'm like screw it I'll just sit here. Fire up podcast of Meet the Press. Bummas mon, Dick Gregory and his silver helmet hair are sitting in for my guy Russert this week. Interesting interview with John McCain. Finish reading SI college preview, shake head in disgust at written fellating of Notre Dame. Oprah's on the TVs in the jury room. Thank you, Steve Jobs.
9:35: Start crossword. Pen's skipping like mad and making me nuts. Get about 40% through it and am really disappointed that I can't go further. I used to be a crossword stud.
9:50: Drop crossword, crack open Golf Magazine. Do I need a hybrid club? Let's see...I can't hit fairway woods at all, I hit my long irons like a champ. Hybrids are for people who can't hit long irons. No, I don't need one. Meet The Press has segued into an HBO podcast of an interview with the guy who plays Turtle on "Entourage," which is the only show I watch these days.
10:00: Oprah gives way to "The View", which apparently is broadcast at triple the volume of every other show on TV. Even with my headphones in, I can still her the hens cackling away. I seek solace in the "quiet room" and grab a Diet Pepsi and some pretzels. The quiet room is so quiet there's no way in hell I'm opening that bag of pretzels for fear the other 8 people in there might smash my head into a cinder block wall. Interesting article about if the US can win the Ryder Cup. The Ryder Cup is kinda like the America's Cup in that we dominated it forever, and now we just kinda suck.
10:12: There's some goofball in a Cubs jersey-shirt clacking away on a laptop next to me. I make a mental note that if I end up on a jury with this guy, I'm wearing Sox stuff every day the trial goes on. And so help me if he ends up the jury foreman, I'm holding out on him just on general principle.
10:30: Hunger's starting to take over. Ever mindful of those seeking peace in the quiet room, I trudge back out to the main room. I see my cute giggly neighbor who always has a gaggle of her cute giggly friends at her place and give her an eyes-rolling smile. Crack open pretzels, crunch away happily. Now listening to a podcast from NPR about a bird market in Kabul. The Afghani word for falcon translates to "hunter," just in case you care.
10:40: Done with Golf rag. Time to work on fantasy football strategy. Two words: Ben Troupe. Two more: Anquan Boldin.
11:00: In 20 or so minutes, I've formed a pretty nice little depth chart for my upcoming draft. 6 QBs, 10 RBs, 16 WRs, 6 TEs. Defenses and kickers are a dime a dozen, but I always make sure I draft Jeff Wilkins.
11:20: It dawns on me, no one's been called yet. Now listening to NPR report about the rebirth of New Orleans. Apparently the levees are all held together with rubber bands and peanut shells, but you can still catch plenty of good jazz!
11:30: Jury super comes in again. "Ladies and gentlmen, you are dismissed. All of you. The two (full docket, my ass) courtrooms who requested jurors today don't need anyone."
11:33: I collect my check for $17.20 and am off to the driving range. My boss always says that going to the range is bad, all it does is reinforces bad habits and makes you frustrated. About 2/3rds of the way through my small bucket, I realize he's right.
