That’s Not Me
They announced names. I listened.
“No, that’s not me.”
“That’s not me, either.”
This went on for the few days I was called in. Until Wednesday, the 27th.
They announced names. I listened.
“No, that’s not me.”
“That’s not me, eith–wait, that is me.”
“These jurors should go to lunch, and report back at 1:25.”
I didn’t leave. I told everyone I could that I had finally been called. I wrapped up my work, set my out-of-office message, shut my computer down. I ate lunch, cleaned up my mess, and packed my stuff away. I watched CNN, regretting the channel’s decline to sameness, and waited.
We assembled in the waiting area, we few who had been chosen to serve, at about 1:30. We waited. Finally, at about 1:45, the jury commissioner came in.
“Thank you for coming, but the judge doesn’t require your services today. Those of you in your second week of duty, you’re done. You don’t need to call the recording, you don’t need to come in tomorrow or Friday. Thank you for your service.”
The free donuts were no consolation.
Posted by email from erectlocution’s posterous
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