Jury Duty
For the first time in my life, I had jury duty yesterday. I registered to vote in this last election and the same day I received my voting packet, I received a jury duty summons. That’s how this great state of California works, you try to be a good citizen and have your voice heard, you get fucked. I know three other people that got a jury summons the same day as their voting package, which makes me feel even less special.
When I mentioned my jury summons to friends and co-workers — seriously, like everyone — told me to just throw it out. Technically, I guess there’s no way for them to prove that you actually received that mail. But I’m 26, I’ve never had jury duty, and I was honestly intrigued as to how this process works. Plus, I saw The Pelican Brief a while ago on basic cable and I think that had something to do with courtrooms or something. I was riveted. Plus, the writer in me was hoping maybe I’d get some awesome material out of this.
So I opened up the jury summons, called in, and was told to arrive at 8am.
Firstly, I’m not a morning person and this is earlier than I normally have to be at work. Right off the bat, I am not a fan of this system. So I get up early, rush to the courthouse, and because I’m running a few minutes behind, I sprint from the parking structure to the courthouse. I don’t want to be late. Not for America. Not for my country.
So I run indoors — hoping they haven’t started without me — to see…a line. Like not just a line, a fucking Disneyland line that wraps around the lobby 4 times. And this fucking line isn’t just for jurors, it’s for everyone to go through a metal detector. I find my place at the end of this insanely long line, where I ask some old fart if this is the line for jury duty. He replies, “It’s the line for everyone, pal.” Then makes a weird thumb jerk motion for me to get behind him.
OK, so I’m off to a not-awesome start. Haven’t even gotten into the juror’s room yet and I’m already super bummed on our court system. Now, here’s where it gets good.
“THIS IS BULLSHIT!” I hear some loud, croaky-throated yell from behind me. I turn around to see some gnarly-looking girl standing on a bench with a ticket in her hand, waving it rather angrily. Let’s just call her Virginia, since she was clearly an avid smoker and Virginia Slims are the gayest cigarettes on the market.
I’m still at the end of this insanely long line, and Virgina saddles up behind me, just breathing heavy and loudly. “What the fuck?” she croaks, “I got this fucking TICKET for throwing my fucking CIGARETTE out the window. Fucking California!! FUCK!”
I turn around, since she’s like yelling at the back of my neck, and I assume she’s talking to me. She is. I’m like “Oh bummer.” Saying the shortest sentence possible, since I don’t want to talk to her, it’s early, and I hate this shit already.
HER: “You believe this shit? A CIGARETTE TICKET!!”
ME: “Oh. No way.”
HER: “FUCK! Fucking like to see the judge prove I threw it out! HA!”
ME: “For sure.”
HER: “Fucking California, man. They’d never do that in Florida!”
ME: (Turning back around)
HER: “Yeah, I’m from Florida. What, is it a fucking CRIME to smoke here?? They don’t wanna fuck with THIS girl! Hey. HEY…what you in for??
ME: (Reluctantly turning back to her) “Jury Duty.”
HER: “BLARGHRJKGH!!! Don’t convict me!!”
This last bit really made Virgina laugh. Not me. But she was on a roll, laughing her jolly ol-smoker laugh. I finished with an, “OK. I won’t” and the best fake smile I could muster up.
Thankfully, this last bit about being “convicted” caught the attention of this little Mexican woman standing behind her. This woman was about 4 feet, 3 inches tall, and had a kind face. I’d like to call her Maria, my guardian angle, since she really was in this situation. There’s no doubt in mind that if Virgina kept talking, I would have pushed her down the nearest flight of stairs.
This little Mexican woman then proceeded to try and convince Virginia that her getting this cigarette ticket was a sign from Jesus that she should quit smoking. “Maybe eetz a sign, joo know? Jesus wants you to stop de smoking and clean up.” This was amazing on two levels really, the obvious being that it totally distracted Virginia’s verbal assault on my ears and the back of my neck. Her gross ass-breath was melting my back hairs. Secondly, this conversation started to make Virginia very uncomofrtable, which in turn, caused her to shut the fuck up.
But it was my guardian angel’s turn now. We were still in this fucking line and Virginia wasn’t getting away. “Joo ever think about it? Jesus giving joo a sign, dear. Joo should stop smoking. He gives me signs all de time, child. Joo ever think about it??”
It was blissful delight for the rest of the time through the line. Sweet baby Maria, my guardian angel, preaching to Virginia about the error of her ways. It was poetic. And honestly, I think maybe it was a sign that she should stop smoking. Or at least a sign that she should shut the fuck up at 8am in the morning. Some of us aren’t morning people Virginia. And some of us were expecting a half-nude lady justice awaiting us with coffee and scones for jury duty.
“What about the rest of jury duty?” you ask. Well, I wish there was more to tell you really.
For the next 5 hours, I sat in a room with about 300 other people — poor, unfortunate souls — just sitting there. We did nothing. Well, we went through an orientation for about an hour where were told of all the possible, magical things that could happen if we got put on a jury. But nothing happened. We just sat there. No one was called in. There was no judge, no questioning, and certainly no fucking scones.
Oh, and one of the vending machines ate my dollar. That was lame.
But I can’t complain, after sitting through this whole process and seeing how much a general waste of time it is, I’m thrilled that the most that happened was silence. Honestly, I don’t want to be on a jury. I need to NOT be in a room with people like Virginia. And if you put me on her jury, I’d put her in jail. Even if that wasn’t an option, I’d go under oath and suggest it. The judge would tell me I was out of order, then I would scream “I’m out of order?! YOU’RE out of order!! This whole damn court is out of order!!” and fart in his face and give him pinkeye.
So what can I say about jury duty? It was pretty lame. Maybe you should do what everyone told me and just throw it out. Maybe rent the Pauly Shore movie Jury Duty instead. That movie sucks, but it’s more entertaining than having the embodiment of Virginia Slims scream profanities at your backhair. But then again, maybe you should be like me. Go in and serve your country. As my little midget guardian angel Maria said…maybe it’s a sign, joo know?
