If you’re like me, there’s nothing much more deflating and stressful at the same time, than receiving a summons for jury duty in the mail. Scheduling has already been challenging at work, how was I going to manage this one? I was told that since it was a “stand-by” notice, the odds were good that I wouldn’t have to go, so I decided to not try and postpone the inevitable. I rolled the dice and…I lost. Fortunately, I had scheduled myself off and with a downtrodden gloom, I prepared for the day.
I planned carefully, what I would bring and most definitely, what I would not bring with me. I always have a box cutter in my purse and the Slip N Snip scissors my dad gave me many moons ago. Those stayed home along with a lighter (I don’t smoke, but one never knows when one might need to light up a dark concert hall), along with most of my credit cards. What I knew I had to bring with me was my pacemaker ID card so I wouldn’t have to go through a metal detector and risk being “magnetized” and drop dead. I brought reading and writing materials, two water bottles and plenty of snacks. I was hopeful about getting sprung early, before lunch even, but I don’t go anywhere without snacks.
Not only was the weather bleak and bitterly cold, but I was going to have to go to 26th and California in the city, a very not so nice part of the city. What a frightening experience, as I drove past barbed wire fences surrounding what looked like a prison. I worried about my car still being there when I got out, if I got out, but fortunately, I was allowed to utilize the parking building. I was also told that this particular courthouse was where the murder trials were held, lucky me! As if I wasn’t nervous enough, I was worried about someone coming after me and my family if I convicted someone’s lover of murder.
I spent the first two hours reading a magazine, having a snack, using the restroom and daydreaming. I thought about the episode of one of my favorite TV shows, Sex in the City when Carrie has jury duty. I always remember her being intrigued by a goofy guy who takes a mango out of his briefcase and sits there lovingly ogling it. The first day, it was a mango and the second day, a coconut. Somehow, I think a pineapple would have played better, but maybe they couldn’t get it to fit into the briefcase. Anyway, I didn’t encounter anyone nearly as interesting, but that’s okay, I was enjoying the quiet and the thankfully spaced seating that allowed me my solitude. No one seems to believe me when I tell them that I’m an introvert, but I am. In a roomful of strangers, I’m the strangest and I’d rather be left to my lonesome, thank you very much.
Panel numbers 4 and 11 were called to line up and go to a courtroom, I was lucky number 11. I guess I wasn’t going to get out of there before lunch, good thing I brought the snacks. Decades ago, I was put on a jury, but right after we were picked, we ate lunch and during that time, the case was settled and I got to go home. Maybe lightning would strike twice? Nope, instead, it was snack time then back up to the courtroom.
There were a lot of people, standing in line to go into a rather small courtroom. Me being me, I stood at the end of the line, hoping it would be my “out”. They started calling names, fourteen names to be exact. Whew, I lucked out of the first panel and instead, I was assigned to sit in the galley to watch and listen to the first fourteen contestants be questioned. The same repetitive questions, over and over again as each perspective juror was lightly interrogated. As I listened to their answers, I wondered how I would respond.
First of all, me being me, I would stand up when my name was called, not just sit there like a lump. Maybe they would tell me to sit back down, but I don’t know that I would, it seems more appropriate to stand when one is talking about oneself. I thought about how much detail I would give, being so damned proud of myself. “Have you ever served on a jury before?” “I was picked, but never had the chance to hear the case your honor. You see, I was served a delicious fried chicken lunch, unlike today your honor where we were only offered vending machines.” After rolling my eyes, I would finish my story about how the case was settled during our lunch break and I was done for the day.
Where do you live? Married? Children? What are their ages? What do they do for a living? What do you do for a living? Have you ever been a victim of a crime? Do you have any family or friends that are police or lawyers? I sat there thinking of the answers, all the details that TMI Gail would give, and then, I had a thought. What if I was chosen to actually be on the jury and I had to convict a man of murder. I wouldn’t want to give him all the information he would need to hunt me and my family down. No, maybe I was thinking about going at it the wrong way. Instead, I started to answer the questions in my mind, “Who wants to know?” “None of your business.” And “I plead the fifth!”
Six jurors were chosen from the first set of contestants, so another fourteen names were called out. I thought more and more about how much I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to tell this room of strangers the details of my life. I didn’t want to hear this case. I want to go home and have more than snacks and maybe a dirty martini with blue cheese stuffed olives, extra olives please, to calm my nerves. The judge called name, after name, after name and I lost count. Was that twelve? Another fourteen? Did I make it without being called? Yes, I was not going to be a part of round two, but what if they were all disqualified for one reason or another? I mean, this one guy up there, couldn’t stop talking to save his life. I knew, he would be cut for sure. Another guy talked about how he was a habitual cannabis user and needed to be on an airplane for his grandmother’s memorial Thursday morning. They wouldn’t make him miss his grandmother’s memorial, would they? Another guy talked about how many crimes had been committed against him and how many juries he’s already been on, he’s done his time, tenfold, they would cut him loose for sure. Oh no, I wasn’t out of the woods yet.
As the repetitive questions droned on, I began to think about what kind of answers I could give that would get me out for sure. I’m not a liar, can’t do it, but I was told that maybe if I acted crazy, I would be excused. Now that, I could do! I always remember the Steve Martin routine where he describes how to walk down the street safely with $20 in your pocket. He talks about acting crazy and talking to yourself, but the best part was to pee in your pants, have a big stain, no one would approach you and you would most certainly be safe. Was I willing to pee in my pants to get out of jury duty? I mean, I could totally do the crazy talk, be nonsensical, but pee myself? Maybe I should text my kids goodbye, mommy wasn’t brave enough to pee herself in public to get out of jury duty and the angry lover of the man I send to prison is coming after us, sorry.
The judge began to call out the names of the next chosen jurors. How many names was that? She wasn’t certain herself and had the officer go check how many people were in the jury room. There needed to be fourteen or I was going to have to try and get myself disqualified. I had enough urine in my bladder, if need be, but no, I wouldn’t’ have to publicly pee myself today. She had fourteen jurors and I was free to go home, but collect my check for $17.20 first for my day of fulfilling my social duty.
I was free to go home and thankfully, it was still light out. I really hate being in the city, especially a very not so nice part of the city at night. I powered up the GPS and got out of there as fast as I could. It took me home via side streets instead of the highway, not the most comfortable route, but hopefully the GPS lady knew what she was doing, and she did. Just as the sun was going down, I hit the familiar stretch of Cicero where my beloved Henry’s Hotdog’s (It’s a meal in itself!) neon sign lit the way to my salvation. I stopped and picked up some much-needed comfort food and headed home. It felt so very, very good to pull into my garage, to walk into my warm home and feel safe. I would never do anything to risk not being able to go home. I know I have lived a blessed life, that I have not had a need to lead a life of crime to survive, but not being able to go home, that itself would be a crime.
I’m so glad I’m a candied assed spoiled suburbanite, who didn’t grow up on the streets. I’m so glad I was able to stop at Henry’s and get a double dog (okay, two double dogs) with fries just like I have had the privilege to do my entire life. However, most importantly, I’m glad I didn’t have to stand up in front of a bunch of strangers and pee myself to save my loved ones. It’s good to be alive!
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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