Being a Potential Juror Sucks the Big One: Part 1

When I got my summons in the mail, my heart dropped into my lavender toenailed feet. The horror and sense of dread that filled my soul was almost visible to my family as I opened the envelope and saw that I had, indeed, been summoned to serve on a jury. Oh. My. God. The last time I had seen one of those evil pieces of tan paper, my daughter was an infant and I had an airtight excuse not to serve. Almost 19 years later, I've got nothing! No excuse, no legitimate reason, Jack Squat. There was nothing preventing me from having to show up on June 9th, 2014, barring death or natural disaster. Fuck me sideways, I had to show up.

The night before, I did my civic duty and called the number they demanded I dial to find out if I actually had to be present the next morning. Of course I did. Was I imagining any different? Bad luck being my middle name, I knew that I was going to hear that awful recorded voice telling me to show up at 9am. Sure as shit, I did. Working myself into a lather, I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable...being selected. Going through all the potential reasons why I would be the worst possible candidate, I began the process of coming up with all kinds of non-PC answers to questions I imagined they would ask me. "Yes, I'm a racist." "All Mexicans are illegal." "People who live in trailer parks always steal and do drugs." What did I know?

Monday rolls around and I get myself prepared to head out the door, grabbing a bag filled with quarters to stuff into the ten hour meter they provide three blocks from the courthouse for all of us poor suckers doomed to be there and making sure my Kindle was charged so I could have reading material for the waiting period. Driving there, I am freaking out. What if I get picked? What if I have to serve? What if I can't get out of this??? Park the car and begin the walk to the courthouse. UGH. I arrive and find a long line of other sad sacks waiting to find out their upcoming fate. As I approach the door, I see what looks like airport security. They take my purse, my phone, and my keys, then demand I remove my belt. WTF? My pants will be around my ankles, but okay, here ya go asshole.

I make my way to the Jury Assembly room and stand on another long assed line. Only this time, I notice that there are six old school fans blowing and no AC! This was a hot fucking day to begin with, now I was stuffed into a room with 200+ people and no air conditioning. Fabulous. The lady at the desk takes my summons, gives me my juror badge and a questionnaire and instructs me to fill it out, place it in the filing thingy, and wait to hear my name. I sit down and fill out the stupid paperwork and shove it into the archaic filing system and sit back down. Pop open the Kindle and try to kill time. Except time was killing me. I was sweating so profusely that my hair was dripping wet. I piled it on top of my head in a ridiculous but functional ponytail and go back to reading.

Forced to sit through an old lady give a speech about why we were so lucky to be summoned to the fine city of Martinez to serve as jurors and then, my personal favorite, a video about how fortunate we are to be able to serve on a jury and that it is the best thing since sliced bread, I start to lose my mind. How long have I been sitting there? Oh, long enough to be excused for lunch! I meander my way through the streets of a very cute downtown, I must admit, and find a Mickey D's to get me a salad so I don't pass out from starvation. Well, I had no idea how long this was going to take. I take it to go so I can go refill the meter. I fill the meter, fill my belly, and head to Starbucks. A venti vanilla macchiato with an extra shot, please. I chug that bad boy in record time and head back to the courthouse to hear my fate.

Sit and wait, sit and wait. They call one group after the other, just not mine. Fine, fuck you, see if I care. I've got my Kindle. Holy shit, was that my name you just called? Oh fuckity fuck. We file out into the hallway and are told to head upstairs to Department 4. Oh, did you think I went directly into the courtroom? Nope, we were told to wait in the corridor and our names would be called. Naturally all the men sat on the limited number of benches provided for us and I wound up seated on the dirty carpeted floor. Thanks, gentlemen, I didn't want a real seat. Dickless schmucks! Reading until my eyes got so heavy I feared I would fall asleep on that disgusting floor, I found myself next to a woman who brought, of all things, nuts. Yes, nuts. She crunched and cracked and chomped away 6 inches from me. Are you serious, lady? I thought for sure I'd be next defendant needing a jury in about 3 minutes.

Shoving my mind back into the trashy novel I was reading I attempt to tune her out. Until she started counting on her fingers. Really?!?! You are a grown ass woman, dressed fairly nicely, and you are counting on your fingers. Stifling a laugh, I look away before my mouth betrays my common sense and I blurt out something insulting. Thinking if she's my competition, I am definitely getting selected, dread fills my gut. Just as I force myself to calm down, I hear my name called. Time to line up and meet the judge. We file into the courtroom and take our seats. Ahhh, a real chair with cushions. So far, painless. The judge goes over the rules, the nature of the case, and informs us that this particular trial will last until August 15th. Are you out of your fucking mind? That's all summer!

Let me tell you something, there was no way in hell I was serving on this panel. No fucking way. Not just because it was almost two months long, although that was a major deterrent. After hearing the nature of the case, I was done. The kind of done where you want to shank the defendant in the throat and slice his balls off with a rusty butter knife. This rotten piece of shit, this pathetic excuse for a human being, this slimy motherfucker was accused of lewd and lascivious acts against children...and he is a teacher. I'm sure you must know my stance on this by now. As a teacher and a parent of a girl, I was furious. So furious I couldn't see straight. You want me to sit on this jury and be fair? Did he consider what was fair to these children? Nope, I can't do it.

The judge asks us if we have any real impediments to serving on the jury. Does hating child molesters count? Of course not. I would have had to be a caretaker to someone elderly, an infant, have no means of transport to court, or be unable to pay my mortgage if I served. Shit, shit, shit. I have no fucking excuse! Oh, this is it. I'm getting picked. They tell us to go down to the jury office and get yet another questionnaire and fill it out in the jury assembly room and then hand it in. Sure, I got this. Maybe the questionnaire will have a disqualifying question and I'll get booted. Maybe I'll ride a unicorn home while rainbows shoot out of my ass. These questions appear to be totally in my favor. There's no way, no fucking way they will want me. I fill that bitch out with complete honesty and walk it over to the jury office. Handing it in with confidence that I'm so out, and then being handed a slip of paper that instructs me to appear the following Tuesday for jury selection knocks the wind out of my sails in the blink of an eye.

The ride home was miserable. Running through my mind, haunting me, was the sheer volume of the charges being levied against this cocksucker and how I was going to have to listen to the testimonies of children...children and maintain my composure and be FAIR. How the hell can someone be fair in light of those kind of offenses? Me, of all people, Judgmental Jesus? Are you friggin kidding me right now???