Monday, April 03, 2006

Coincidence? Or a vast bureaucratic conspiracy? 

So I get called jury duty.

Nick has two cases in court the same day too.

We're both getting ready together and he says, "If it's Blah or Blahblah, get yourself excused."

One of his cases is supposed to go at 8am.
No one leaves the jury room for selection until 9.30 at the earliest, so I'm sitting there bored and ticked, because this is time he could have been sleeping, since he worked all night and will have to do it again that night (And again has court the next morning), but of course, his second case is scheduled to go at 1pm, so no rest for my bunny.
I haven't a clue why no one gets called out until an hour and a half after the reporting time; I mean, do we really need to hear a "Rah, rah, you're such lucky Americans with the right and privilege of jury service" speech from a judge and watch a video version of the speech and basic social studies "This is your brain on the Justice System" recap then sit around for an hour? There has to be a better system for processing all potential jurors.

Anyway, I finally get called to go with a group just before noon.

We wait in the hallway for a while. A bailiff comes out, "Everybody gather around [simple instructions follow regarding seating order and a preprinted jury questionaire]."

We wait in the hall for a while more. Then we're called in.

The judge does his "Hi, I'm Judge So-and-So, here's the purpose of the jury in this case" rah rah speech.

He has kind of a meandering style, you know, he's showing us he's just zis guy y'know, so we don't get to the "Does anyone here know the defendant?" type questions for a while.
No one admits to knowing the defendant, so nobody raises their hand.
Anyone know the D.A. or anyone who works for the D.A.'s office? No? Good.

He takes fifteen minutes to explain the charges that have been filed, and I zone out because he started the spiel with "This case is The People v. Blahblah" so I'm just waiting to get kicked out.

Eventually he's done and asks if anyone in the jury pool knows a member of law enforcement, and this description can include even IRS agents. I raise my hand as do about seven others. It takes a little while to get to me.
"Ms. Spaaz?"
"Yes, sir, er honor?"
"Um, my husband's a CHP officer and he's going to be testifying at this er, thingy."
The jury pool explodes with laughter, I shrug, the judge asks me to repeat myself.
"He, um, told me the two cases he had today and this is one of them, I think he was one of the arresting officers or um..." (I am very well-spoken in front of a stern man in a black dress).

He tries to make a joke out of it, "So you'd be unable to believe anything he said was the truth?"

And I smile, but really, this bothers me and what I want to say is, "This is a man whom I fell in love with because I'd never met anyone more honest and honorable and still haven't. If he says she's a crazy drug-addled hag, she's a crazy drug-addled hag."

But I didn't want to taint the jury pool, so I just said, "Er, the opposite way really."

Which is good, because usually when I start waxing rhapsodic about Nick and all his virtues I bring his dick, its talents and dimensions into it, which would be embarrasssing for Nick as he entered the courtroom, what with the jury craning their necks to see if he had specially fitted pants, carried it in a shopping cart preceding him, or even just walked with the bowlegged saunter that physics demands and all. (He does the latter)
And that probably wouldn't have been appropriate.

The judge told me I was excused.
I said, "Thank you, sir, offic--, er, your honor."
And skedaddled back to the jury room.
About an hour later everyone who hadn't been called yet was allowed to leave.

So that's out of the way for another year or so.

I did nearly finish the back of the Sleek Cabled Raglan and finished rereading Good Omens for the bajillionth time (funniest. book. about. the. endtimes. ever.) and got a good chunk of Practical Demonkeeping read.

Thanks everybody for the comments on the sweater, I really appreciate it!

I leave you with a knit-spotting excerpt from Good Omens:
She'd stopped reading the kind of women's magazine that talks about romance and knitting and started reading the kind of women's magazine that talks about orgasms, but apart from making a mental note to have one if ever the occasion presented itself she dismissed them as only romance and knitting in a new form.


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