--I’m sure most of you are aware of this by now, but Blitz
Krieg didn’t make it through his ordeal; he reportedly passed away
on Sunday evening.I only
knew him through our websites, via email, etc., but it’s clear he
was a smart, funny, and decent guy.This news makes me almost literally sick.I offer sincere condolences to his family and friends, and
don’t really know what else to say…Here, again, is the link to his journal.
--On Sunday I did as I
was told, and called a telephone number printed on a piece of paper
that arrived in our mailbox, to find out if I was required to report
for jury duty the following morning.Toney had been through this several times, and when she called
the mystery number a recording always told her she didn’t need to
show up.
So, that’s what I was expecting.But it’s not what I got.No, my recording was a bitch.She ordered me there, in slightly threatening tones, and
insinuated I’d better be on time.
I had flashbacks of the One O’clock Ballbuster.
I didn’t care for the pre-recorded attitude, and was irritated by
the disruption this would surely bring to my life of half-assery.I mean, I’d probably have to wriggle into fancy-pants, and
everything…What a pain
in the exit ramp.
But what are you going to do?I
got up on Monday and rampaged through the house, trying to deal with a
deadline.I’m no longer
accustomed to such things, and found myself running late.Go figure.
With only coffee for breakfast, I tore out of here, and took the
younger Secret to school.I
found myself trapped behind a van-full of slow-moving kids, with a
mother outside the vehicle kissing and hugging and smiling like a
retard.She was also
wearing one of those ski jackets with no sleeves, which pissed me off
further.
"What is this, some kind of Catholic clown car?!” I bellowed, as
more and more tricycle motors poured forth.
I made it to downtown Scrantonwith only minutes to spare,
and there was construction all over the place.I didn’t know where to park, or what entrance to go in…My right hand was whipping through my hair so fast it was
probably just a fleshy blur.
I pulled into a lot, and a man walked over to my window.He looked like he was coming off a two-week drunk, and said,
“Five dollars.”No,
“Good morning,” or “How are you today?”He just got right to the heart of the matter.I paid him, and he told me they
park the cars.
So I got out and he got in, and promptly shifted it into reverse while
mashing the accelerator flat.The
thing went rocketing backwards across the parking lot, the engine
whining in distress.And
at the very last second, before crashing into a row of SUVs, the wheel
was whipped to one side and my car landed perfectly in a space between
two gigantic Fords.
Holy fuck.
I had to remove everything from my pockets, pass through a metal
detector, and have my torso wanded, before I was allowed entrance into
the courthouse.But the
guys there were considerate and professional, so I didn’t mind too
much.I was just excited about
being kinda
sorta on-time.
I went upstairs to the “juror’s lounge,” and gave the guy my
summons.He was friendly,
and told me to have a seat if I could find one; they’d be in with
instructions shortly, he promised.
This so-called lounge was just a big room, decorated in a very
tasteful 1969 Soviet Unionmotif, filled with folding
chairs.And every one of
those chairs was loaded-up with surly human.
I went out into the hall to wait, and found a place to sit on a bench
around the corner.Some
guy eventually flopped down beside me, and he smelled like cigarettes,
farts, and Rite-Aid cologne.
About thirty minutes later a Civil War veteran walked up and down the
hallway, telling us to wedge ourselves into the “lounge,” for
instructions.So that’s
what we did, and the guy who’d taken my summons spoke to the crowd
of 150(!).
He said we might be called downstairs to talk with lawyers, and we
might not.There was no
way to predict what could happen, and urged us to please be patient.If it dragged out long enough, we’d be allowed an hour for
lunch.But we might be
gone by then.Nobody
knows.
At the end of his little talk, he asked if there were any questions.A few hands shot up (of course), and it was, without exception,
variations on “How long are we going to be here?”Apparently these people hadn’t heard a word the man said,
chose to ignore it, or were too damn stupid to understand him.I have my theories…
I went back to my bench in the hall, and two other guys sat there as
well.I started reading my
book again, while the dude in the middle talked non-stop.
He’d been on jury duty four times during the past ten years, you
see, and was an old pro.He
looked like Ducky on Pretty In
Pink, but had a deep voice like that Statler Brother way down on
the end.He was cynical as
all hell (without imagination), and pontificated about how the “system is broke,” and
how the entire judicial process is “complete bullshit.”His voice vibrated the bench on which we sat.
I finally couldn’t take it anymore, and went looking for another
place to wait.I went in
one direction and didn’t find a seat, so I had to walk past my
buddies again.And I heard
Ducky say, “Oh, you think this is bad?You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!Just you wait…”I
was growing to hate Ducky, and his knowing tones.
Everybody was bitching and complaining, and spewing profanity-laced
clichés.I didn’t want
to be there either, but what good is it going to do to sit and
grind-out complaints all day?I
mean, shit.It was like a
cross-country car ride with Sunshine.
Around noonthey let us go to lunch.I walked across the street to a little diner, and had a club
sandwich and a Dr. Pepper.I
dragged it out as long as I could, but was only able to milk 45
minutes out of the meal.So
I returned to the “lounge.”
And that’s where I sat until three o’clock.I read more than 100 pages of a Dean Koontz novel, and
developed a rather severe case of Phantom Ass Syndrome (PAS).In addition to the clichés and perma-bitching, I realized half
the people in there were also coughing and hacking and wiping snot on
their sleeves.Simply
excellent.
Finally a fancy-ass judge walked in, with the air of a man who knows,
simply knows, he has the
world by the balls, and told us we could go home.He said we came very close to being considered for a jury that
would’ve likely been in place for twelve days or more.It had something to with a diving accident that left someone a
paraplegic.
But it sounded like the two parties came to an agreement, and the
jury trial wouldn’t be happening after all.So the judge thanked us for our service, apologized for the
imposition, and told us we were free to go.
Then a funny thing happened:half
the people in the room started clapping.Why?!There was no
call for applause, none whatsoever.I think that whenever a person speaks in front of a crowd,
regardless of the circumstances, many feel an obligation to clap at
the end.I just don’t follow
it.
So, I’ll supposedly be receiving a check for $9, plus 17 cents per
mile. If I back out the
five bucks I paid for parking, I’ll net approximately $6.38 for the
day.It’ll be my biggest
paycheck in months!
Next time I’ll tell you about our very brief visit to the Office
Convention, but I wouldn’t get too excited about it…Here are a few pics I snapped while we were there.
