And...jury duty.
A few weeks ago, I received my summons in the mail. I went online and completed the necessary paperwork, then called when I was told to call. Monday: not needed. Tuesday: not needed. Wednesday: not needed. Was I in the clear? Was I not going to have to serve? Hope rose.
Thursday: report for duty at 8:30 a.m.
So, I cleared the decks, caught up with my work as best I could, made arrangements for a second-in-command, and had Mr. G. drop me off at the Rapid Transit station.
It's been awhile since I road the Rapid. They've gussied up the stations, but the trains still clickety-clack along beside the backsides of buildings, many scrawled with graffiti. Then, after West 25th Street, the stunning view of Downtown Cleveland, picture perfect -- or would be, but for the scratchy windows on the aging cars. What surprised me was the small number of rush hour commuters. Many moons ago, when I road the Rapid daily, it would be packed to the hilt with downtown workers. On this trip, I was able to get a window seat.
After arriving at the Terminal Tower, I walked out into a beautiful, sunny day. And a tableau of construction equipment and barriers. They are working on Public Square. So, I had to schlep around and work my way back to Ontario Street to get to the Justice Center.
I've served jury duty a number of times before, so I knew the drill. Stand in line, give them your card and ID, then go sit in the juror's lounge and listen to the presentation by a very earnest clerk, who explains the honor and thrill of being a juror. Her speech was lost on a Diana Ross diva type in dark sunglasses, who kept insisting that if she got on a trial, she wasn't going to be able to show up Monday, and with whom should she speak. The clerk patiently explained that if she was summoned to the courtroom, she should express her concern to the judge. Then she told her again. And one more time, before the woman huffed off to sit in a chair with her laptop, which couldn't pick up the piss-poor WiFi signal.
Then we all waited. An hour later, an officer came in with a list, and 16 jurors were called. I was not among them. (Diana Ross was, ha!) I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed, but it really didn't matter. The remaining jurors had to sit in the lounge and wait until the jury had been selected.
In the meantime, I read my book and tried not to listen to Fox News on the TV. It was then that I decided I would rather have been called to serve on the jury. Ugh!
Lunchtime came and went. A fellow juror started berating the clerk. "I want to go get lunch, but what if they dismiss us? What will happen to my lunch? How much longer is it going to be? Five minutes? Two hours? Don't you have any idea?"
The clerk patiently explained, in polite terms, that she was not able to predict how long it would be.
It turned out to be another couple of hours before we were released, certificates in hand as proof that we had been there, and our assurance that we would not have to serve again for another two years.
After the two-year period, my name will be put back into the system for the random name drawing. It seems like some folks never get called, while others, like me, have been chosen multiple times.
I should be so lucky with the winning lottery numbers!
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