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| via google.com/ehow |
Since I knew where I was going and what I was doing (somewhat...LOL), I arrived early determined to get one of the good, comfy seats. My tailbone was talkin' and it ain't have nothin' nice to say. So, I get there and the windowless basement is practically empty. The hard knock life ladies who keep the joint running were there (with smiles that were sincere yet somehow disconcerting all at the same time) and so were fifteen to twenty others.
*Yes! I will get a good seat today!*
Since the room was awkwardly divided into three sections and I had never seen the other aspects and features of el basement, I went to explore my options before choosing my seat. I was determined to sit in a new location in a more comfortable chair so I roamed to the "left wing" of the basement and discovered a gigantic flat screen TV with endless rows of chairs.
*Negator.com*
So I stroll over to the "right wing" which housed a ping pong table from 1957 and a foosball table from 1932. Couches lined half of the room while sturdy chairs lined the other. There was a "bistro" area with 3 or 4 tables and chairs, a table with a puzzle from 1853, an area that resembled a studio livingroom and a cool bat cave looking recessed area at the very back of the room.
Jury Duty Promised Land found!
This side was much larger and better decorated than "center section" where I'd sat the day before. Thinking I'd hit the jackpot, I strolled over to a couch and plopped down only to discover that this was quite possibly the most uncomfortable couch ever. My feet could not reach the ground and my back was tilted in the most awkward angle... some weird place between completely reclined and sitting straight up. I fidgeted and finagled trying to make myself comfortable but soon realized: this ain't gone work. So I hoisted myself out of the polyurethane loveseat, stepped directly into the "bistro" and had a seat. Much better. Sitting straight up, yes, but much better than gradually disappearing by sinking ass first into pleather.
If you can't tell by this post, let me just confess: I was having a pretty rotten attitude about jury duty. The intrusion on my life... the windowless basement... the crappy anti-climatic seat on the couch and I wasn't feeling the greatest to boot. I was crying a river on the inside.
Right about that time a cute lil' lady named Janet strolled over to the bistro section and sat down next to me. We *clicked* right away so we talked and laughed until lunch time. We got over an hour break for lunch and after being cooped up all night, it was wonderful to go outside. As we evacuated the basement, Janet struck up a conversation with three other girls (Donna, Dianna and Rhonda) and invited them to have lunch with us. We traipsed down the block, chatting and laughing along the way. I was booking it because I was huuuuuuuungry! The food was delish and the company was fab. We talked, laughed and even shed tears together. Connecting with others is such a beautiful thing.
So the weirdness of jury duty:
The guy who threw a hissy fit when he did not get his same seat from the day before.
Taking an oath that I am not "mentally retarded" (seriously.)
The fact that it takes legislation to remove/change the phrase "mentally retarded" in said oath.
Incessant sitting
The irony of systems in place to protect our rights and the exploitation of those systems
The rusted petty cash box (that was shaken exactly 5 times before EVERY name was drawn for EVERY jury pool. I can still hear the sound "chuga-chuga-chuga-chuga-chuga")
The beauty of jury duty:
Meeting new people
Breaking bread and making connections with new friends
Realizing that I had a connection with Dianna (I know her daughter, son-in-law + their kids and they are ALL awesome peeps!)
People watching (I think I overdosed for sure!)
Good eats downtown and...
That sweet moment we were released to go home
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