Omigawd, I was fuming when I came home a little while ago because I, myself, have just this day been put on a jury in Bronx County for a trial that’s supposed to last 2-3 WEEKS! It looks like an interesting criminal case (can’t say more) but I really am not looking forward to sitting in the rather shabby Depression-era South Bronx for that long with no pay (my Dad’s still waiting for his $40/day from a case he was on for two days in December) and not knowing how to schedule my singing and gym classes in Manhattan, since we’ll be getting out at various times. There’s only a few non-fast-food places to eat around the courthouse, which is right near Yankee Stadium, so there goes my diet–no microwave, no oven, not even a fridge for us. At least it’s right near the subway, the D (West Side) and the 4 (East Side), so I can zip downtown right after I’m done each day if I need to. Or I can just go on home 
I’ve been enpaneled a few times when I lived in Mass., but once they heard my cousin’s a cop and that I’ve been shot (with an airgun, in a park, just a few stitches, by idiot teenage boys they never caught, twelve years ago) and noticed my pol-y-syl-la-bic vocab, I’ve been excused right away. Oh well.
Man, the Bronx county court system is STRICT! We had about a foot of snow, no bull, here yesterday morning, and I spent a while calling around and looking at websites and all and all they could tell me was that it might be open. I had to wear my Frankenstein-style boots and wait 20 minutes for the bus in snow nearly to my knees to take me to the subway and the courthouse steps were like climbing Mt. McKinley, and when I got there…almost all the rest of the prospective jurors, dressed like Sherpas, were there too. We were scared to death! There’s all kinds of fines and stuff and no excuses, although you can call in one postponement. You’re a student? Tough shit. Single mother? What, kid doesn’t have a grandma? Sick? We want a written note from your doctor, and we’re going to call him up too. Don’t speak English? We’re going to call your workplace, and if they say you can habla ingles, you’re in contempt of court, buddy. Bring proof of that non-citizenship or chronic medical condition in notarized writing or else. And so on. The clerks practice the drill sergeant method of communication using loudspeakers in a cavernous room with row after row of chairs in which about five hundred people mostly sleep or try to read (me). To be fair, once they’ve scared all us people they’re pretty nice to us later, and the vast machinery of justice in a county with 1.4 million people and a high crime rate (much, much, MUCH lower than I was a kid, though) moves along pretty well.
I’m officially a temp, and the last day of a long-term placement was tomorrow. I knew I might miss it so I finished training my successor on Tuesday and called her and the agency today so everything’s set there, except for the fact that I’ve missed a few days’ pay and am going to miss a bunch more. And oh yeah, I never got a chance to say goodbye to our boss. Know why? He was on jury duty (in Manhattan, and THEY closed yesterday, rich soft bastids!). It’s an epidemic! But in all seriousness, although I was rudely shocked when my name was called (only 5 out of the 14 enpaneled were taken) and took the oath probably looking more worried than noble, I am ready for my part in the justice system. In our orientation video we got Ed Bradley and Diane Sawyer (neither of whom would have been eligible to serve on a jury not too long ago) tell us why it was important. And I agree.
Just wish I had access to a microwave.
And oh yeah, may I join the pile-on on that idiot Catperson? Thanks!
<<OOOMPH!>>