Thursday, July 22, 2010
I have some Spillanin' to do.
First off...I paraphrased the title of today's blog from Sparkle. (Thank you,Sparkle)
So today I had Jury Duty.
I'm gonna take you through my adventure. It's exciting!
I get up at 5:30 to shower. Some coffee. Toast.
I want to be on time. I leave at 7:00 for the 20 minute drive.
I park in the ten dollar lot where the lawyers park. Me and parking attendant make fun of lawyers.
I get in to courthouse and walk up three flights of stairs to the Jury Room. I then notice elevator.
I talk to the clerk in Jury Room (a little 5' 2" number with a badge)
I decide I want to fill out a new questionaire as the one I filled out at home is messy and maybe a bit racist.
My plan is to get out of Jury Duty.
But I fill out new form. Honestly.
No Mel Gibsonian slurs.
Little Miss 5'2" smiles and gives me a number.
I proceed to the magazine table. A nice selection of mags from 2009.
I score a Time.
Then I stake out a chair in back of room. I want a full view of the soon to be room of losers.
The room is 40' X 50' (I know this because later on I was counting the 2' square tiles) The room has four huge flat screens TVs that still don't work because the cable hasn't been hooked up...this is waht 5'2" told me (This is the courthouse that is three years old)
TIME magazine is read. Off to the bathroom. Good hair day.
Back to magazine table. Couple more old TIME magazines and a DETAILS.
I think DETAILS might be a magazine for gay men.
I read it.
I read the two issues of TIME.
TIME might also be for gay men. Or Democrats. Or something.
I get up walk to bathroom. Wash my hands.
Back near the magazine table.
Do I really want to read Car and Driver?
I go to my chair empty handed.
The group of losers is getting restless. Either put us on a jury or let us go home.
I start making eye contact with folks. Eyerolls. Fake smiles.
Nice rack on juror #48.
Nice back tattoo on biker chick.
Lots of fat folks. Lots of capris. Lots of bottled water.
Everybody seems to be texting.
Not me...Wifey said I couldn't bring a cell phone in.
I'm now starting to make conversation. I'm thinking of getting a group sing-a-long going but don't have the guts.
I look back at the rack on #48.
Miss 5' 2" clerk says she'll find out if we'll be needed.
It's now 12:00.
A Butch Judge comes out (sans robe) and tells us how important it is to sit in a waiting room hating the state of Massachusetts and tells us we won't be needed.
I look over to the impressive cleavage on juror #48.
And I leave The Jury Room.
I, The Jury am now at work.