Courting

Why is it that I can never hit the numbers for the lottery, but I manage to get called for jury duty every few years?

The Blue Angels flew by here. Honest.

Dutifully, I reported to the Justice Center, 4th floor, last Wednesday to serve as a juror.

I sat for two days, reading and working jigsaw puzzles, waiting to be called. And waiting. And waiting.

I did get called to the front desk. Once. But by the time I got there, our merry band of justice servers was told "the courtroom isn't ready after all," and back we went to sit some more. Hours later, we were told the defendant decided to cop a plea.

Although I wasn't called again, at the end of the two days, the Juror Meister informed us that we had served well because just knowing we were there was enough of an incentive for defendants to acknowledge their guilt. So nice to know I didn't actually waste two days of my life sitting in a room with 200 strangers, who also gave up their lives for two days.

I did feel lucky because it was a holiday weekend. Presumably, we would have had to come back on Friday during a normal week. I imagine the judges and lawyers weren't keen on starting a new trial before a three-day weekend.

I must admit, it was cool spending a couple of days downtown, where I worked many moons ago. On Wednesday, I took my son up on his offer to do lunch. Once he figured out where I was, he picked me up and whisked me off to the Harp, an Irish restaurant near the shores of Lake Erie. We arrived before the lunchtime rush, ensuring we were able to dine and get back to work in a reasonable amount of time. The weather was hot but clear, a condition that changed right around the time we were dismissed for the day. There was a cloudburst of epic proportions, and based on the weather radar, waiting it out wasn't a viable alternative.

Then came the text from my kid, offering to pick me up. My insisting I would wait it out. His insistence on coming to fetch me. My acquiescence. Still getting soaked dashing from the Justice Center to the curb, but far better than if I had to run to Public Square. An admonition to the driver about why it's NEVER  a good idea to make a U-turn in front of the "cop shop." (You can go around the block, why take a chance? That place is crawling with cops, you know.) And we were on our way to the Rapid station, where I'd left my car.

Thursday, the weather was perfect. Sunny all day and considerably cooler. During the lunch break, I ventured out to Heinen's for lunch. Coming out afterward, I heard jet noises, then remembered the air show being hosted over the weekend. Casting my eyes skyward, I saw, between the tall buildings, Blue Angels zoom zooming this way and that. I tried to take a photo, but by the time I got my camera phone set, all I got were vapor trails.

Shrugging, I headed to the old tymie candy store for provisions. Maltesers and Swedish Fish and treats for Mr. Ginley. Then back to finish off my afternoon of sitting. Before I returned, since I had a few minutes left, I lingered outside and looked over the court house across the street. I could hear the jets, but was still missing them. I finally gave up, took one last glance, and was rewarded with the sight of four jets, rising together above the courthouse, splitting in different directions. (I'm sure there's a name for this maneuver, but I don't know what it is, I'm sure Steph could tell me.)

Oh well. More vapor trails.

After our dismissal, certificate of service in hand, with the knowledge I wouldn't have to serve for at least another two years, I headed home. I gathered up Mr. Ginley, and we ventured out to drop stuff off at the library and pick up dinner at Swenson's, then proceeded to the Metro Park for an impromptu picnic and stroll.

Found time is the best time, after all.