A Run In With Civic Duty
In addition to making me feel slightly uninformed and abashed at my vigorous Obama flag waving, a friend's recent post on her issues with Democratic Presidential Candidate also reminded me that I recently had a run in with civic duty myself.
In 10 years of being eligible for jury duty I have never been asked to appear, until last month.
I could never understand why people would bitch so vigorously about jury duty. It didn't matter who you talked to, hating jury duty was (and is) a passion for most people. I just couldn't wrap my mind around how getting a paid day off of work to sit around and read could be a bad thing. Then last month my number finally came up and it was like a veil was lifted from my eyes to reveal the ugly truth. And not the never going to lose those last 5 lbs ugly truth. No, this was the paint is peeling in my shower to reveal that the "new" tiles in my shower that I have been admiring for over a year are actually old and diseased tiles kind of ugly truth. [shivers]
So I called in Friday night after 5:00 PM and was told to call in the following Monday after 5:00 PM. Monday night I call and am told that I am the lucky contestant and to come on down Wednesday morning... at 7:45 AM. Okay, not so bad. Sure, that's the time that I'm usually getting out of bed, but I can make a sacrifice or two to serve my country. So Tuesday I pop out of bed and into my "business casual" best as instructed (complete with heels), grab my directions, and head out to join the triumphant masses. Or something.
I started to suspect that maybe Uncle Sam was, well, a bastard when the directions I got off of the web site got me lost. Extremely lost. Well-dressed white girl in shiny Jeep in East LA barrio kind of lost. So, at about 75% panic, I manage to navigate my way into Downtown and to the parking structure with 5 minutes to spare. Score! Patting myself on the back I make my way onto the street and towards the court house across the street. That's when I hear it. The man with the fliers telling the lost looking architect that no, this wasn't his court house, and he needed to go to the one FIVE BLOCKS AWAY. And yes, you guessed it, after a quick consultation with the same solicitor I too had to march my ass FIVE BLOCKS AWAY. But unlike the architect I was in heels, had a 20 lbs purse full of goodies to entertain me for the day, and was dressed in twelve layers in the 95 degree heat because the automated voice told me it could be "cool" in the jury room. And I now had 3 minutes to get there.
Now at full panic mode I speed walk the five blocks to the court house, then proceed to spend another 10 minutes going through security where I have to obligingly lift my trouser jeans up to my knees so the guard can see the my shoes aren't sporting decorative machetes or anything. Eventually I manage to make use of my Dragon Con learned guerrilla-style elevator tactics to cram myself into a lift and, after stopping on every floor known to man, eventually get out and sprint to the jury room. I check in about 15 minutes late, claim a chair in the overcrowded room, and proceed to wait. And wait. And wait.
Around 8:30 AM (45 minutes after my check-in time) I begin to realize that maybe the automated jury duty voice isn't a good spirit of fluffy, happy civic goodness. That maybe it's a malevolent soul, one of some bitter and angry bitch that actually wanted to go to hell so she could torment poor, idealistic young women such as myself. At 9:00 AM, when the passionate judge came in to tell us about the jury system and how awesome America is for having such a system, it was too late. I had become as bitter and jaded as the little man who followed that well-intentioned judge. The man who shouted at us to turn in our papers, because he wasn't taking any sob stories at the end of the day, so we better put those damn papers in their damn bins. Comprende?
At this point I was desperately clinging to the hope that this could all be over by lunch time. That we could be released early, like so many people had said they were, and I could spend the rest of the day getting paid by work to clean my apartment. Then, as if reading my mind, he sucker punched me with the "one day, one trial" rule. Basically, in a nutshell, the court has us for either one full day of service or one trial (if we're picked). So don't event think about getting out earlier because it ain't gonna happen sucker.
With most of the jury potentials still reeling, we watch a 10 minute video where someone speed-talked about lunch options in the area, and then I proceeded to attempt to read my book while making myself as small as possible in my chair so as to maintain some illusion of personal space. And that's how I remained for the next 2.5 hours until my name was called. Huzzah! Despite my Manager's instructions to "get kicked off" I really was interested in being on a jury. So I clutched my bag and waited with held breath for my assignment. I was told to report down the hall after lunch, almost 2 hours from that time. Super. As if an hour for lunch not knowing anyone or anywhere to go wasn't bad enough, now I had even more time to kill. So armed with the vague knowledge that there were supposedly restaurants in the area I headed out. Thirty minutes and three blisters later I finally managed to stumble across the underground mall and a Sbarro. Yum.
Fast forward to after lunch where, still not getting it, I was at the assigned spot on time. Of course, 20 minutes later someone poke their head out only to tell us that whoops, we're not needed any longer. So a bunch of people, me included, grumble our way back to the over-heated (thank god for those 12 layers!), over crowded, smelly jury waiting room to wait some more. Unfortunately my previous chair had been taken so I had to further make my way into the dungeon. I managed to find a fairly isolated chair, with only 2 or 3 mystery stains, and gingerly sat down. Three hours later, with my ass and thighs sore from sitting gingerly that entire time, the end is finally announced. Freeeeedddddooooommmmmmm... 30 minutes later, when they finally call my name to get my completion slip. That and a short FIVE BLOCK hike UP HILL back to my car and a 45 minute fight through Downtown LA traffic.
So, to summarize, top 5 reasons why people hate jury duty:
1) Would it kill them to make it even just slightly convenient? Apparently yes, and that's why parking 5 blocks away was the easiest part of the day.
2) They treat you like dumb cattle. Though you can decide the fate of people's lives, you absolutely can not be trusted to put a paper in a box.
3) Besides a 5 minute speech from a well meaning judge and a cardboard box with headphones stuffed in a corner, no one really bothers to take the time to tell us why we should be proud to be doing our civic duty. Or even what our civic duty is. I mean, for the love of God at least throw a video on or something. Maybe a guest speaker or two through-out the day. If you show interest, other people will too.
4) Despite what they tell you, comfort won't kill. In fact, it might even make people (dare I say it) happy. Maybe a little A/C, a clean chair or two, some easy listening piped through the speakers. We're not talking millions of tax payers dollars here, just some soap and KEARTH.
5) People are rude and mean.
In 10 years of being eligible for jury duty I have never been asked to appear, until last month.
I could never understand why people would bitch so vigorously about jury duty. It didn't matter who you talked to, hating jury duty was (and is) a passion for most people. I just couldn't wrap my mind around how getting a paid day off of work to sit around and read could be a bad thing. Then last month my number finally came up and it was like a veil was lifted from my eyes to reveal the ugly truth. And not the never going to lose those last 5 lbs ugly truth. No, this was the paint is peeling in my shower to reveal that the "new" tiles in my shower that I have been admiring for over a year are actually old and diseased tiles kind of ugly truth. [shivers]
So I called in Friday night after 5:00 PM and was told to call in the following Monday after 5:00 PM. Monday night I call and am told that I am the lucky contestant and to come on down Wednesday morning... at 7:45 AM. Okay, not so bad. Sure, that's the time that I'm usually getting out of bed, but I can make a sacrifice or two to serve my country. So Tuesday I pop out of bed and into my "business casual" best as instructed (complete with heels), grab my directions, and head out to join the triumphant masses. Or something.
I started to suspect that maybe Uncle Sam was, well, a bastard when the directions I got off of the web site got me lost. Extremely lost. Well-dressed white girl in shiny Jeep in East LA barrio kind of lost. So, at about 75% panic, I manage to navigate my way into Downtown and to the parking structure with 5 minutes to spare. Score! Patting myself on the back I make my way onto the street and towards the court house across the street. That's when I hear it. The man with the fliers telling the lost looking architect that no, this wasn't his court house, and he needed to go to the one FIVE BLOCKS AWAY. And yes, you guessed it, after a quick consultation with the same solicitor I too had to march my ass FIVE BLOCKS AWAY. But unlike the architect I was in heels, had a 20 lbs purse full of goodies to entertain me for the day, and was dressed in twelve layers in the 95 degree heat because the automated voice told me it could be "cool" in the jury room. And I now had 3 minutes to get there.
Now at full panic mode I speed walk the five blocks to the court house, then proceed to spend another 10 minutes going through security where I have to obligingly lift my trouser jeans up to my knees so the guard can see the my shoes aren't sporting decorative machetes or anything. Eventually I manage to make use of my Dragon Con learned guerrilla-style elevator tactics to cram myself into a lift and, after stopping on every floor known to man, eventually get out and sprint to the jury room. I check in about 15 minutes late, claim a chair in the overcrowded room, and proceed to wait. And wait. And wait.
Around 8:30 AM (45 minutes after my check-in time) I begin to realize that maybe the automated jury duty voice isn't a good spirit of fluffy, happy civic goodness. That maybe it's a malevolent soul, one of some bitter and angry bitch that actually wanted to go to hell so she could torment poor, idealistic young women such as myself. At 9:00 AM, when the passionate judge came in to tell us about the jury system and how awesome America is for having such a system, it was too late. I had become as bitter and jaded as the little man who followed that well-intentioned judge. The man who shouted at us to turn in our papers, because he wasn't taking any sob stories at the end of the day, so we better put those damn papers in their damn bins. Comprende?
At this point I was desperately clinging to the hope that this could all be over by lunch time. That we could be released early, like so many people had said they were, and I could spend the rest of the day getting paid by work to clean my apartment. Then, as if reading my mind, he sucker punched me with the "one day, one trial" rule. Basically, in a nutshell, the court has us for either one full day of service or one trial (if we're picked). So don't event think about getting out earlier because it ain't gonna happen sucker.
With most of the jury potentials still reeling, we watch a 10 minute video where someone speed-talked about lunch options in the area, and then I proceeded to attempt to read my book while making myself as small as possible in my chair so as to maintain some illusion of personal space. And that's how I remained for the next 2.5 hours until my name was called. Huzzah! Despite my Manager's instructions to "get kicked off" I really was interested in being on a jury. So I clutched my bag and waited with held breath for my assignment. I was told to report down the hall after lunch, almost 2 hours from that time. Super. As if an hour for lunch not knowing anyone or anywhere to go wasn't bad enough, now I had even more time to kill. So armed with the vague knowledge that there were supposedly restaurants in the area I headed out. Thirty minutes and three blisters later I finally managed to stumble across the underground mall and a Sbarro. Yum.
Fast forward to after lunch where, still not getting it, I was at the assigned spot on time. Of course, 20 minutes later someone poke their head out only to tell us that whoops, we're not needed any longer. So a bunch of people, me included, grumble our way back to the over-heated (thank god for those 12 layers!), over crowded, smelly jury waiting room to wait some more. Unfortunately my previous chair had been taken so I had to further make my way into the dungeon. I managed to find a fairly isolated chair, with only 2 or 3 mystery stains, and gingerly sat down. Three hours later, with my ass and thighs sore from sitting gingerly that entire time, the end is finally announced. Freeeeedddddooooommmmmmm... 30 minutes later, when they finally call my name to get my completion slip. That and a short FIVE BLOCK hike UP HILL back to my car and a 45 minute fight through Downtown LA traffic.
So, to summarize, top 5 reasons why people hate jury duty:
1) Would it kill them to make it even just slightly convenient? Apparently yes, and that's why parking 5 blocks away was the easiest part of the day.
2) They treat you like dumb cattle. Though you can decide the fate of people's lives, you absolutely can not be trusted to put a paper in a box.
3) Besides a 5 minute speech from a well meaning judge and a cardboard box with headphones stuffed in a corner, no one really bothers to take the time to tell us why we should be proud to be doing our civic duty. Or even what our civic duty is. I mean, for the love of God at least throw a video on or something. Maybe a guest speaker or two through-out the day. If you show interest, other people will too.
4) Despite what they tell you, comfort won't kill. In fact, it might even make people (dare I say it) happy. Maybe a little A/C, a clean chair or two, some easy listening piped through the speakers. We're not talking millions of tax payers dollars here, just some soap and KEARTH.
5) People are rude and mean.