Jury Duty-Induced Adult Onslaught ADD
I heard computer keys clicking when fingernails typed on them. The woman next to me spoke exceedingly loudly on her cell phone as she made her power entertainment deals at 9am. "I can offer you five hundred per day", she told the person at the other end of the line. A man walked up to her and said, "Could you stop talking so loud? I'm trying to read. This isn't a phone booth." She replied, "This isn't a library either." As the gentleman walked away, she looked at me and asked, "am I really loud?" I nodded my head and grinned. She responded by speaking more softly.
No, this was not the library and not a phone booth; this was the jury assembly room. It was cold, boring and I felt as if I'd developed ADD within the first two hours of being there. I'd already read half of Barbara Walter's autobiography while laying on my back at the window wearing sunglasses to protect my eyes from the glare. My trusty jacked served as a pillow.
The public address system crackled annoyingly as the clerk prepared to announce the names of jurors who needed to report to a court room. I started reviewing in my mind all the advice I'd been given about jury duty. "Speak intelligently and they won't pick you." "Act normal. Don't go 'ghetto' on them. Be your usual self." My name having been excluded from the list of jurors called to the court room at eleven thirty, I decided that it was time to stretch. I danced in place and messaged my ears. Then I decided to actually fill out the suggestion cards provided in the assembly room. I suggested baked chips and fruit for the vending machines and free internet use for all potential jurors; twelve dollars and hour, hah! I decided not to put my name and address on the form. I didn't want any consequences and repercussions as a result of my 'sharing'.
The public address system cracked again and the clerk apologized again for the noise. We were dismissed for an hour and a half lunch break. I realized that this was actually longer than I get when I'm at work. I decided to go outside and eat my pre-packed lunch in the sunshine. The air-conditioning inside was giving my sinuses the blues. I rubbed sunblock on my skin and tried not to notice the cigarette smoke wafting my way from other jurors.
At one thirty lunch break was over. Back in the assembly room I alternated between reading Barbara Walters, writing, and reading spiritual material. The PA crackled again at 3pm. This time the clerk announced that we had served our time and were being dismissed. Several jurors cheered. No more jury duty for one full year.
As I collected my proof of jury service, I thought about the evening ahead. Daytime was all about jury duty; the night time, however, was all about seeing Sex and the City, wearing heels and sipping cocktails.
No, this was not the library and not a phone booth; this was the jury assembly room. It was cold, boring and I felt as if I'd developed ADD within the first two hours of being there. I'd already read half of Barbara Walter's autobiography while laying on my back at the window wearing sunglasses to protect my eyes from the glare. My trusty jacked served as a pillow.
The public address system crackled annoyingly as the clerk prepared to announce the names of jurors who needed to report to a court room. I started reviewing in my mind all the advice I'd been given about jury duty. "Speak intelligently and they won't pick you." "Act normal. Don't go 'ghetto' on them. Be your usual self." My name having been excluded from the list of jurors called to the court room at eleven thirty, I decided that it was time to stretch. I danced in place and messaged my ears. Then I decided to actually fill out the suggestion cards provided in the assembly room. I suggested baked chips and fruit for the vending machines and free internet use for all potential jurors; twelve dollars and hour, hah! I decided not to put my name and address on the form. I didn't want any consequences and repercussions as a result of my 'sharing'.
The public address system cracked again and the clerk apologized again for the noise. We were dismissed for an hour and a half lunch break. I realized that this was actually longer than I get when I'm at work. I decided to go outside and eat my pre-packed lunch in the sunshine. The air-conditioning inside was giving my sinuses the blues. I rubbed sunblock on my skin and tried not to notice the cigarette smoke wafting my way from other jurors.
At one thirty lunch break was over. Back in the assembly room I alternated between reading Barbara Walters, writing, and reading spiritual material. The PA crackled again at 3pm. This time the clerk announced that we had served our time and were being dismissed. Several jurors cheered. No more jury duty for one full year.
As I collected my proof of jury service, I thought about the evening ahead. Daytime was all about jury duty; the night time, however, was all about seeing Sex and the City, wearing heels and sipping cocktails.
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