My duty is done

On Tuesday, when I was sworn in, the judge told us to be there at 10:45am, the trial would start at 11:00am and we'd be done by 2:00pm. She wasn't kidding. We were in the jury room at 2:00 and on the road by 2:40. That's not to say that we, the jury, rushed a decision. We gave it a good discussion and weighed the matter carefully. It was just a pretty obvious decision. So, that's it. Here's a look at the beautiful court house.

There was a metal detector that went off after every person, but the deputies just waved us through. I felt so secure. Actually, I felt sad. All the patients walking around seemed doped to the gills and were just shuffling up and down the halls. There was a woman with her husband, who was the patient, trying to have some privacy in a very non-private place. They strolled up and down the hall, the wife trying to be cheerful and failing, the husband looking vacant. At one point I saw her holding his hand and gazing lovingly into his blank stare and my heart broke for her. Did she see her husband the way he used to be? Was she willing him to break through the haze and really look at her? It was obvious how much she loved this man and I felt so sorry for her having to have this private moment in a crowded hallway with Sheriff's deputies and lawyers and other patients milling about. Mostly I left that day feeling very sad and thanking God for whatever tenuous hold on sanity he has granted me.

I came back to the office to check my email and do a few things, got home at 7:00pm and fell asleep. Sound asleep. I woke up briefly around 2am and washed my face, but then I was back in bed until 8:30am. So why am I still so tired?

Jury Duty--Cheap entertainment at its finest.

I got called to Jury Duty. Woo Hoo! I kind of like jury duty but I wasn't looking forward to this one because I have piles of work to do. But alas, I am not one of those who tries to ditch my civic duty, so I woke up at 6:30 and...WHAT? 6:30?! I have to be downtown by 7:30!! After the fastest shower ever, I hopped on the freeway and off to Disney Hall to park. I rushed over to the courthouse and made it only 10 minutes late. Until I realized I was at the wrong court. Rats. I rushed over to Civil Court, had an asthma attack, and sat down to listen to the spiel. The cast of characters were rich, especially OCD woman who kept rubbing her hands with hand sanitizer every five minutes. Chuck Taylor was on jury duty (and me wearing Keds. For Shame), as was Mr. Pacman. Oh, but folks, let me tell you about Mama's Boy and his Helicopter Mom.

Mama's Boy was easily mid-to-late 20's. His mom drove him to jury duty--and stayed with him. She told him when to take his paperwork up front. She detached his juror's badge and put it in the plastic holder. Then, as God is my witness, she attached it to his shirt for him. Mind you, Mama's Boy was physically able to do all of this by himself and did not appear to have a mental disability (which would preclude him from Jury anyway). Time went on and Helicopter Mom reminded him of a dentist appointment and to have the cable switched over to her and to go back to the salon and tell them he needs his haircut again because they didn't cut it short enough on Friday when he got it cut. He told him if he gets called before lunch to meet her back at the jury room, where she'll be waiting, and they'll go to lunch together. Then, the conversation took an unexpected turn.
Mom: I haven't seen you since Friday. You went out with (poor girl he's dating) and stayed at her place. I don't know why when you had to work the next day. What did you do on Friday?
Son: We went to dinner.
Mom: Where did you eat?
Son: Daily Grill.
Mom: Which one?
Son: Burbank.
Mom: Did you pay or did you go Dutch? [Dear God, woman, what's it to you?]
I don't know how she has the time to date between work and school and the gym.
Son: (mumble mumble)
Mom: She takes Internet classes too. That's what she told me. I know what happened. She went back and talk to her girlfriends. " Oh, he said he needs space. He just has cold feet." That's what girls think. (mumble mumble) She's a smart girl. If I were that smart when I was younger, you wouldn't be here. You hear me? You'd never have been born.

Yikes! Suddenly, I felt very sorry for Mama's Boy. But not for long. My attention shifted to a woman who was clearly not wanting to be on a jury. Lady Huffington flounced and huffed and generally made it known that she was unhappy. The supervisor announced that they were sending a group to a different court house and started calling names. When she called Lady Huffington's, she answered with a "(damn it) Yes!" The court they sent us to was the Mental Health court in Cypress Park or Glassell Park, I'm not sure where. It was a drive, but not too far and the directions were straightforward. Lady Huffington (and a few others) made a stink like it was in Orange County, for Gods sake. It was a strange little court house, but everyone seemed friendly and it was positively crawling with handsome deputies. So, the huffy one tells the bailiff that she needs to be excused and he says "sure, I'll tell the judge." We start getting called and she's still sitting there. She is making faces and it's clear she thinks she's privileged.

Jurors #2 and #4 lied--no, really. I heard them in the hall say what they did, and when they got inside, suddenly their jobs had changed to something that would excuse them. With them out of the way, Lady Huffington was called. She plopped into the seat in the jury box and the judge had had enough. "Look, we're all in the same boat. Let's try to have a positive attitude." Huffy explained that she had a migraine. The judge pretty much told her to take some pain medication and get over it. And just like that, I ended up on a trial. It's supposed to be over by tomorrow afternoon. Stay tuned for more.

How was your polling place?

After waiting 40 minutes in the long, long line outside, someone finally came out and told us "If you're voting at the Green Table, come inside. There's a separate line." Woo Hoo! I'm Green! I got in line behind a man I shall call Creepy McThreeteeth (because he was creepy and had three teeth) and in front of the idiot couple who was JUST getting around to reading the booklet. My polling place was at the Gay & Lesbian Center on Shrader. Mrs. Idiot said--very loudly--"Oh, I don't want THOSE people to have the right to marry. I'm voting NO." I didn't tell her that a no vote means Yes to gay marriage. If she can't read that's her problem. When one of the poll workers said "Handicapped voters can come to the front of the line," Mr. & Mrs. Idiot went up. I guess that meant mentally handicapped, too, because they appeared to be able bodied.

Creepy McThreeteeth kept asking me the time. Then, he said, "What's your sign? Are you a Capricorn?" When I said, No. He waited and stared until I finally said, "Sagittarius." "Oh, a fire sign. I should have known." I showed no interest in why or how he should have known and the conversation died there except for the continuous time check. At the table, the woman checking our names said to Creepy, "Hey you live in my building. You should come over and visit me. I'm very lonely. I live in 517. I'm always home." Ew. Lady, he's gross. No one is THAT lonely.
As I was leaving the poll worker was once again telling folks about the two lines and nearly half the line had no idea whether they were green table or orange, nor did they know how to find out. Am I the only one who reads the booklet?
As I was walking back to my car, a man in a Porsche pulled out of a space, hit a traffic cone and continued to drag it up the street. I called out to him and said, "Sir, you have a cone stuck to your bumper." "I do?" How did he not feel that?

Thank you, Starbucks, for the free coffee. Did everyone else get theirs?