Thursday, May 25, 2006
Adventures in Jurysitting
When I returned from my vacation in the P-N-Dub earlier this month, I had a week's worth of mail to go through. One particular piece caught my eye and made me say, "Son of a bitch bastard!" I pulled out the very official-looking mail to confirm that my greatest dread with regard to living in a democratic society had finally been realized: I was summoned for jury duty.
I've never wanted to fulfill this civic obligation, because there's one thing serving on a jury is famous for: a LOT of sitting around, doing nothing, and not having phone, television, or computer access. Granted, I am an enthusiastic and voracious reader, but how many books am I going to have to tote around? In eight hours of nonstop reading, I can probably get through 1-2 books. I anticipated today with the greatest loathing, figured it would be the first of a minimum of three days where I'd be restless, fidgety, and bored out of my mind. Instead, my day was like a fucking "Seinfeld" episode. Well, except probably less funny, but it was hilarious to me. I had no idea that today was going to be out-of-control randomly absurd, complete with multiple celebrity sightings, an appearance on the local news, and to start the morning off right, a jarring walk down the memory lane that is my little black book.
I woke up with the sun because my summons indicated in extremely imperative legalese that failure to appear in the jury room at precisely 8:45 a.m. would result in severe penalties to the tune of $1000 and/or a night at the Tombs. My criminal record is limited to a non-arrestworthy $250 citation for getting caught with a half-smoked joint, and a Smith College judicial board hearing in 1998 where I was prosecuted by a tribunal of uptight transgendered bitches for possession of candles and a class D substance, found guilty on both counts, and punished by loss of seniority in the spring housing lottery. I'm pleasantly amazed that my record is so spare and relatively untarnished. Therefore, I'm not looking to round out my criminal resume with a contempt charge or whatever happens when you skip out on jury duty, and figured that I had better heed the strong language of the summons and get up at the cock's crow, which in NYC is the sound of garbage trucks. Rising early would give me ample time to walk the dogs, get dressed in a manner "respectful to the court" (my shirt had a respectfully deep neckline, because that's how I roll), get all the way downtown, get some coffee, possibly get lost, get through security, and find the jury room.
I was tired from waking up so early, and the commute from Sugar Hill to Tribeca is very long. I spent the whole ride fantasizing about the gigantic cup of coffee I was going to chug as soon as I got off the train. As I emerged from the subway at Chambers Street, a wonderful sight more miraculous than Mary at Medjugorie appeared to me: a gleaming Dunkin Donuts, on the other side of the street. Score! I marched promptly over there and purchased the largest coffee they had. I was almost to the door when I heard my name being called.
I turned around and saw a generally unremarkable guy in a suit standing there, and for a second I wondered who the fuck he was. He obviously knew me, as he was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to greet him in return. He seemed vaguely familiar, so I spent a few seconds trying to figure out how I knew him. Suddenly recognition hit me with chilling horror: I was standing face to face with Facial Boy! Of all the ways I could have POSSIBLY started the day off, I end up in the unlikely scenario of being caught off-guard by a discarded trick before I've had the opportunity to ingest any caffeine. I was not at the top of my game in terms of scathing repartee. All I could manage was, "Uh....(how do I get out of here...think, Razzy, think!)...hi."
"You never called me back," he said. I inwardly groaned, and almost referred him to this website for an explanation. Then I thought that might be a longer conversation than I wanted to have. So I kept it terse and uninviting.
"No, I didn't." I said in a curt tone, and there was an awkward pause. Maybe he wanted an apology or something...well, I'm not sorry, so tough shit, bitch! I then turned around to go, and we exchanged some insincere "take cares," and I immediately cut over to City Hall Park to smoke a cigarette and internally freak out for a second. I figured that running into Facial Boy was a very bad omen. The likelihood of running into a random one-night stand on an island of 1.5 million people (3 million on a work day) in a city of 8 million people in a Dunkin Donuts I'd never been to before on the day I just happened to be summoned to jury duty while in a slow-witted state was surely very low. Even though I suck at math, I realize that there are a lot of variables in that probability equation that make this run-in on par oddswise with winning the Powerball jackpot. Except instead of becoming an overnight millionaire, I won a perturbed mental state. After I'd had a little more coffee, I started to get pissed at myself for not coming up with something more snappy that would have left Facial Boy with proverbial egg on his face, much as he once left his demon seed on mine. I finally consoled myself with the fact that at least he got my meaning that he wasn't repeat material, and prepared myself for Jurorpalooza '06.
I tried to get psyched up for jury service by thinking of that narrative at the beginning of "Law and Order" episodes. "In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the police who investigate crimes, and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories. Dun-DUNT." My attempts at getting excited were slightly bolstered when I walked past the federal courthouse where both Lil' Kim AND Martha Stewart received their prison sentences. Plus, the courthouse seemed appropriately courthouse-y, what with lots of columns and poor lighting and all.
However, as soon as I got inside the hall of justice at 60 Centre Street, I realized that I was in the civil court, and would thus not get to see the real-life equivalent of A.D.A. Jack McCoy tear a defendant's story to shreds on the stand. I also quickly realized that my paranoia about being on time was unfounded. The jury clerks didn't even show up until 9:15, and the jurors themselves filtered in leisurely throughout the hour-long orientation.
The orientation consisted of a hilarious video entitled "Your Turn!" First, Ed Bradley from "60 Minutes" came on and gave us the world history of different justice systems, including awesome reenactments of Moors chopping off various thieves' hands, Spanish Inquisitors weighing guilt versus innocence via the "trial by fire" method, and a mob of toothless medieval villagers drowning witches. Ed Bradley then asked, "Was this fair and impartial? They thought so." Next, the video showed a bunch of modern jurors echoing my sentiments about being called to jury duty. One man said, "When I got my summons, my heart sank," a sentiment to which I could entirely relate. In an attempt to convince annoyed prospective jurors that they are doing an extremely important service, Bradley provided more history about why juries are important. After dropping numerous Aristotle quotes, he attempted to rally prospective jurors' patriotism by attributing the success of the American Revolution to the jury trial. I mean, fuck the Minutemen...it was a jury of some rebel colonist's peers that really stuck it to the Crown! Then Diane Sawyer appeared to explain what we should expect from jury service, namely that it is the "theater in which a democratic society administers justice." She characterizes the trial as "a final showdown" between the people of the state of New York and a criminal, or, as in my situation, two assholes suing each other. "You are not just sitting and waiting, but playing an indispensable role in our justice system," Sawyer crowed, then added, "And you're most likely going to find it fascinating." After this pump-up, the Chief Justice of New York's State Supreme Court started explaining why jury service is more fun than Disneyland, and not at all a pain in the ass. In fact, even rich people, doctors, and judges are required to show up for jury duty nowadays, and they don't mind because JURY DUTY RULES! And with recent improvements in summonsing, it's "now more convenient than ever" (less sequestering!). After this video and despite my best efforts to convince myself that I was in for a thrilling treat, I remained unconvinced that jury duty was going to be better than sex, so I sighed and sunk into my chair for three hours of reading. I finished one book before it was even lunch, and wasn't even called to the selection room.
By the time lunch rolled around, I was overly ready to get the fuck out of the courthouse. So I hit a nearby deli, and crushed a turkey sandwich while sitting in the sun. After lunch (which was thankfully 2 hours long), I started feeling uncomfortably stuffy and sleepy, so I decided to take a nice, long stroll around the hood. Chinatown was just a few blocks away, and there's always lots of exciting things to see there, so I headed up Centre Street. As I passed 100 Centre Street, the criminal courthouse, I noticed there was a big commotion. In fact, an impromptu press conference was just starting, so I decided to watch. Some bouncer shot up a nightclub in Chelsea last night, and today was his arraignment. Bouncers have been a much-maligned group in recent weeks on account of another, totally different bouncer allegedly kidnapping, raping, and strangling a woman, then duct-taping her head and dumping her in a ditch in some shitty, obscure part of Brooklyn. Therefore, the local media was eager to get the scoop on the latest murderous bouncer. And because of my close proximity to the defense attorney giving the press conference, I ended up on NY1 tonight for like 0.05 seconds (well, the camera blurred past me as the cameraman focused in on the lawyer speaking)! I'm famous!
After that, I just walked around for about an hour. I walked up to Little Italy, then cruised through Chinatown, and finally around City Hall. As I passed City Hall, I swear I saw Gloria Steinem (Smith '56). I'm positive that it was her because I've seen her before...she was always running around Smith's campus since she is their most visible obnoxious alumna and the college was always giving her pointless awards for whatever the hell it is that she does these days. I noticed that girlfriend wasn't looking so hot. Granted, Gloria's always managed to rock some of the most unflattering corduroy-trimmed denim jacket/batik wraparound combos in the history of bad womynist fashion, but now she's REALLY looking haggard. It's time to shelve that bra-burning pride and hit the Botox, sister!
Between Facial Boy, the press conference, and Gloria, I figured my quota for weird stochastic eventfulness was filled, and I went back to the courthouse. I was about to go in, except I noticed some tents erected there. At first I thought it might be some sort of gum and newspaper vendor who might be able to sell me an Economist to spice up my afternoon reading. However, when I peered in the tent, I only saw a bunch of video equipment and...Billy Bob Thornton and Susan Sarandon?! What are they doing here? And Christ on a cross, Billy Bob is skinny! Mary-Kate Olsen looks like a tanker truck coated with lard in comparison. That dude needs to EAT. How does the cracker equivalent of a Somali refugee end up banging a sickeningly hot piece of ass like Angelina Jolie? They were married for 2 years, for God's sake! Life isn't fair.
Anyway, after my brief taste of bystander stardom and basking in the presence of the many "celebrities" hanging around the courthouse district, I reported for my afternoon session of jury duty only to get the best news of the day. On account of the holiday weekend, none of the judges were scheduling any jury selections until next Tuesday, when another sorry crop of jurors are due to report. Therefore, we were relieved from service with the thanks of the court, and were guaranteed to not receive a summons for FOUR YEARS! Hot. As much as I suspected jury duty was going to blow, and as much as it got off on the wrong fucking foot due to the Facial Boy run-in, jury duty was the most entertaining crappy chore/day off from lab in a long while, and I got to be a responsible citizen. It's way more fun than voting!
I've never wanted to fulfill this civic obligation, because there's one thing serving on a jury is famous for: a LOT of sitting around, doing nothing, and not having phone, television, or computer access. Granted, I am an enthusiastic and voracious reader, but how many books am I going to have to tote around? In eight hours of nonstop reading, I can probably get through 1-2 books. I anticipated today with the greatest loathing, figured it would be the first of a minimum of three days where I'd be restless, fidgety, and bored out of my mind. Instead, my day was like a fucking "Seinfeld" episode. Well, except probably less funny, but it was hilarious to me. I had no idea that today was going to be out-of-control randomly absurd, complete with multiple celebrity sightings, an appearance on the local news, and to start the morning off right, a jarring walk down the memory lane that is my little black book.
I woke up with the sun because my summons indicated in extremely imperative legalese that failure to appear in the jury room at precisely 8:45 a.m. would result in severe penalties to the tune of $1000 and/or a night at the Tombs. My criminal record is limited to a non-arrestworthy $250 citation for getting caught with a half-smoked joint, and a Smith College judicial board hearing in 1998 where I was prosecuted by a tribunal of uptight transgendered bitches for possession of candles and a class D substance, found guilty on both counts, and punished by loss of seniority in the spring housing lottery. I'm pleasantly amazed that my record is so spare and relatively untarnished. Therefore, I'm not looking to round out my criminal resume with a contempt charge or whatever happens when you skip out on jury duty, and figured that I had better heed the strong language of the summons and get up at the cock's crow, which in NYC is the sound of garbage trucks. Rising early would give me ample time to walk the dogs, get dressed in a manner "respectful to the court" (my shirt had a respectfully deep neckline, because that's how I roll), get all the way downtown, get some coffee, possibly get lost, get through security, and find the jury room.
I was tired from waking up so early, and the commute from Sugar Hill to Tribeca is very long. I spent the whole ride fantasizing about the gigantic cup of coffee I was going to chug as soon as I got off the train. As I emerged from the subway at Chambers Street, a wonderful sight more miraculous than Mary at Medjugorie appeared to me: a gleaming Dunkin Donuts, on the other side of the street. Score! I marched promptly over there and purchased the largest coffee they had. I was almost to the door when I heard my name being called.
I turned around and saw a generally unremarkable guy in a suit standing there, and for a second I wondered who the fuck he was. He obviously knew me, as he was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to greet him in return. He seemed vaguely familiar, so I spent a few seconds trying to figure out how I knew him. Suddenly recognition hit me with chilling horror: I was standing face to face with Facial Boy! Of all the ways I could have POSSIBLY started the day off, I end up in the unlikely scenario of being caught off-guard by a discarded trick before I've had the opportunity to ingest any caffeine. I was not at the top of my game in terms of scathing repartee. All I could manage was, "Uh....(how do I get out of here...think, Razzy, think!)...hi."
"You never called me back," he said. I inwardly groaned, and almost referred him to this website for an explanation. Then I thought that might be a longer conversation than I wanted to have. So I kept it terse and uninviting.
"No, I didn't." I said in a curt tone, and there was an awkward pause. Maybe he wanted an apology or something...well, I'm not sorry, so tough shit, bitch! I then turned around to go, and we exchanged some insincere "take cares," and I immediately cut over to City Hall Park to smoke a cigarette and internally freak out for a second. I figured that running into Facial Boy was a very bad omen. The likelihood of running into a random one-night stand on an island of 1.5 million people (3 million on a work day) in a city of 8 million people in a Dunkin Donuts I'd never been to before on the day I just happened to be summoned to jury duty while in a slow-witted state was surely very low. Even though I suck at math, I realize that there are a lot of variables in that probability equation that make this run-in on par oddswise with winning the Powerball jackpot. Except instead of becoming an overnight millionaire, I won a perturbed mental state. After I'd had a little more coffee, I started to get pissed at myself for not coming up with something more snappy that would have left Facial Boy with proverbial egg on his face, much as he once left his demon seed on mine. I finally consoled myself with the fact that at least he got my meaning that he wasn't repeat material, and prepared myself for Jurorpalooza '06.
I tried to get psyched up for jury service by thinking of that narrative at the beginning of "Law and Order" episodes. "In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the police who investigate crimes, and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories. Dun-DUNT." My attempts at getting excited were slightly bolstered when I walked past the federal courthouse where both Lil' Kim AND Martha Stewart received their prison sentences. Plus, the courthouse seemed appropriately courthouse-y, what with lots of columns and poor lighting and all.
However, as soon as I got inside the hall of justice at 60 Centre Street, I realized that I was in the civil court, and would thus not get to see the real-life equivalent of A.D.A. Jack McCoy tear a defendant's story to shreds on the stand. I also quickly realized that my paranoia about being on time was unfounded. The jury clerks didn't even show up until 9:15, and the jurors themselves filtered in leisurely throughout the hour-long orientation.
The orientation consisted of a hilarious video entitled "Your Turn!" First, Ed Bradley from "60 Minutes" came on and gave us the world history of different justice systems, including awesome reenactments of Moors chopping off various thieves' hands, Spanish Inquisitors weighing guilt versus innocence via the "trial by fire" method, and a mob of toothless medieval villagers drowning witches. Ed Bradley then asked, "Was this fair and impartial? They thought so." Next, the video showed a bunch of modern jurors echoing my sentiments about being called to jury duty. One man said, "When I got my summons, my heart sank," a sentiment to which I could entirely relate. In an attempt to convince annoyed prospective jurors that they are doing an extremely important service, Bradley provided more history about why juries are important. After dropping numerous Aristotle quotes, he attempted to rally prospective jurors' patriotism by attributing the success of the American Revolution to the jury trial. I mean, fuck the Minutemen...it was a jury of some rebel colonist's peers that really stuck it to the Crown! Then Diane Sawyer appeared to explain what we should expect from jury service, namely that it is the "theater in which a democratic society administers justice." She characterizes the trial as "a final showdown" between the people of the state of New York and a criminal, or, as in my situation, two assholes suing each other. "You are not just sitting and waiting, but playing an indispensable role in our justice system," Sawyer crowed, then added, "And you're most likely going to find it fascinating." After this pump-up, the Chief Justice of New York's State Supreme Court started explaining why jury service is more fun than Disneyland, and not at all a pain in the ass. In fact, even rich people, doctors, and judges are required to show up for jury duty nowadays, and they don't mind because JURY DUTY RULES! And with recent improvements in summonsing, it's "now more convenient than ever" (less sequestering!). After this video and despite my best efforts to convince myself that I was in for a thrilling treat, I remained unconvinced that jury duty was going to be better than sex, so I sighed and sunk into my chair for three hours of reading. I finished one book before it was even lunch, and wasn't even called to the selection room.
By the time lunch rolled around, I was overly ready to get the fuck out of the courthouse. So I hit a nearby deli, and crushed a turkey sandwich while sitting in the sun. After lunch (which was thankfully 2 hours long), I started feeling uncomfortably stuffy and sleepy, so I decided to take a nice, long stroll around the hood. Chinatown was just a few blocks away, and there's always lots of exciting things to see there, so I headed up Centre Street. As I passed 100 Centre Street, the criminal courthouse, I noticed there was a big commotion. In fact, an impromptu press conference was just starting, so I decided to watch. Some bouncer shot up a nightclub in Chelsea last night, and today was his arraignment. Bouncers have been a much-maligned group in recent weeks on account of another, totally different bouncer allegedly kidnapping, raping, and strangling a woman, then duct-taping her head and dumping her in a ditch in some shitty, obscure part of Brooklyn. Therefore, the local media was eager to get the scoop on the latest murderous bouncer. And because of my close proximity to the defense attorney giving the press conference, I ended up on NY1 tonight for like 0.05 seconds (well, the camera blurred past me as the cameraman focused in on the lawyer speaking)! I'm famous!
After that, I just walked around for about an hour. I walked up to Little Italy, then cruised through Chinatown, and finally around City Hall. As I passed City Hall, I swear I saw Gloria Steinem (Smith '56). I'm positive that it was her because I've seen her before...she was always running around Smith's campus since she is their most visible obnoxious alumna and the college was always giving her pointless awards for whatever the hell it is that she does these days. I noticed that girlfriend wasn't looking so hot. Granted, Gloria's always managed to rock some of the most unflattering corduroy-trimmed denim jacket/batik wraparound combos in the history of bad womynist fashion, but now she's REALLY looking haggard. It's time to shelve that bra-burning pride and hit the Botox, sister!
Between Facial Boy, the press conference, and Gloria, I figured my quota for weird stochastic eventfulness was filled, and I went back to the courthouse. I was about to go in, except I noticed some tents erected there. At first I thought it might be some sort of gum and newspaper vendor who might be able to sell me an Economist to spice up my afternoon reading. However, when I peered in the tent, I only saw a bunch of video equipment and...Billy Bob Thornton and Susan Sarandon?! What are they doing here? And Christ on a cross, Billy Bob is skinny! Mary-Kate Olsen looks like a tanker truck coated with lard in comparison. That dude needs to EAT. How does the cracker equivalent of a Somali refugee end up banging a sickeningly hot piece of ass like Angelina Jolie? They were married for 2 years, for God's sake! Life isn't fair.
Anyway, after my brief taste of bystander stardom and basking in the presence of the many "celebrities" hanging around the courthouse district, I reported for my afternoon session of jury duty only to get the best news of the day. On account of the holiday weekend, none of the judges were scheduling any jury selections until next Tuesday, when another sorry crop of jurors are due to report. Therefore, we were relieved from service with the thanks of the court, and were guaranteed to not receive a summons for FOUR YEARS! Hot. As much as I suspected jury duty was going to blow, and as much as it got off on the wrong fucking foot due to the Facial Boy run-in, jury duty was the most entertaining crappy chore/day off from lab in a long while, and I got to be a responsible citizen. It's way more fun than voting!
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