I was one of the lucky citizens chosen for jury duty. Ok, it’s my civic duty, it’s part of our what makes our country so great, blah blah blah. Honestly, when I first got the summons, I cried. (In my defense, I’d had a really bad day.) I was absolutely terrified. I hadn’t even ever been to the courthouse, nor did I know where to park or where to go once I got inside. For someone with a bit of social anxiety (yes, I once paid someone to go to the DMV and get my sticker renewed for me), this is a mortifying prospect.
Of course, any time you go to a place like the courthouse, you have to be thoroughly inspected. I wasn’t overly concerned about this, because what do I have to hide? A quick jaunt through the metal detector and I’m good to go. Except for the guard that was watching my purse go through the fancy x-ray machine. “Ma’am, why do you have two wallets?”
Um, what? I don’t have two wallets in my purse, but I’m also hard pressed to see what the problem would be if I did. Perhaps I’m very particular about my credit cards touching. He pointed to the slim metallic rectangle on the screen, with a harsh, “What is that?”
Turns out it was my business card holder. A weapon of mass destruction for sure.
After a very stern “You’re free to go, ma’am”, I was herded with the other jury members to a stuffy basement room, where I remained for most of the day. I have no doubt that most of those surrounding me were thinking the same thing I was: how the hell to get out of this? I didn’t know any of the people involved in the trial (my fault for being so anti-social). I cast surreptitious glances at my other jury mates, and for a moment wished I was the guy with the mohawk, or the gauged out ears, or the villainous eyebrows. Oh, or the girl that showed up in yoga pants, or the woman that I’m fairly certain didn’t speak English.
In the end, I didn’t get picked, but I’ll still be on call next week. I think I’ll leave my business card holder in the car.