I had jury duty a couple weeks ago. As it turns out, I wasn't selected for a jury, so my service was all of eight hours long. On one hand, I'm glad because I had a lot going on at work, so it would have been inconvenient to miss more than a day; on the other hand, if I were on trial, I would hope that the jury would be made up of people like me. And I think I'd find it interesting to serve on a (short!) trial.
Before I go any further, I should knock wood. I can imagine my friend Betsy - who has served on the super-long grand jury twice - wanting to punch me for thinking I'd enjoy "real" jury duty.
Anyway. The exciting part of this story isn't actually about jury duty (if you can believe that?!). It's about what happened during my lunch break.
Rain had been pounding the city in waves since I'd woken up and it was still coming down when they released us for lunch. Despite trying to walk carefully, I was fairly drenched by the time I arrived at Cava Mezze for lunch. After grabbing a falafel wrap, I popped my ear buds in so I could continue listening to Stephen King's latest collection of short stories on my walk back to the courthouse. I raised my umbrella and started walking.
Out of no where, my foot hit the slick sidewalk grate grate and started to slide. The next thing I knew, I was on my butt, rolling around in a puddle like a turtle flipped on its back. My hand and my elbow were screaming as if someone had gone to town on them using some combination of a cheese grater and a hammer. In my ears I heard a woman begging to be slapped, thanks to Stephen King's twisted imagination.
It was sensory overload, so I combatted it by loudly narrating everything that was happening, thinking (I guess?) that it would help me get my bearings. "Holy shit!" I called out. "How the hell did I just fall? I'm on my butt in Chinatown in the middle of the day! What is going on?"
By this point I was crawling around in a puddle, trying to get my feet under myself. I saw legs approaching and receding. In hindsight, I think people were probably coming to help me - then backing away when they heard my rambling narration of events. I finally righted myself and returned to the courthouse, drenched and disheveled.
I sat there, figuratively licking my wounds as they called the numbers for panel after panel of potential jurists. Yet my number was never once called. I can only assume that they they decided I was too discombobulated to serve.
I was reminded of a previous time I'd been called for jury duty, when I was excused because the courthouse caught on fire. So far I've been dismissed due to water and fire... should I assume that my future appearances will be thwarted by an earthquake and a tornado?
Whatever the case, I'll take it. Proud to serve.
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