Don’t pick me
I was summoned to jury duty this morning despite having postponed the inevitable for as long as possible. After being herded from one room into another room and shuffled down the corridor with the number eight on a white sheet of paper, I was asked questions by strangers. On one side, the plaintiffs and lawyers (all related) and in Brooks Brothers suits, on the other side, the defendants (out of towners) and their lawyers (all in, ahem, weird suits and ties) – my mind was quickly saying don’t naturally go to the well dressed, well heeled, vote for the scrappy ones, but in the end the scrappy ones didn’t want me. I think I said visceral twice when responding but what really caught their attention was that I, pardon me, like 15 of the 35 potential jurors had had a bad experience with a contractor post Katrina (who hasn’t?) and so I was also not following their logic – do you think someone could commit fraud if they never met you in person and looked you in the eye – uh, excuse me? Could you repeat that question?
I wasn’t selected. I then was herded back to the big room to await my next fate, and luckily as they were calling out the names bingo parlor style, I was not on the list. Hooray. However, I do have to call in for jury duty tomorrow.
Ah, the great unwashed, and here I am, their peer.