Two Dreaded Words

There are all sorts of envelopes that you don't want to see when you open your mailbox. The return address is usually a dead giveaway: IRS, DMV, Franchise Tax Board. But sometimes those can be good things, such as refunds. Yes, that's rare, but it has happened in the past. Still, an envelope that never brings good news for me always shows the return address, "Jury Commissioner".

I hate jury duty. It isn't because I don't value the idea of having a trial by jury if my life ever took a turn in that direction. Frankly, I am pretty sure that I would rather be judged by twelve members of the general public rather than a single, or even a tribunal, of judges who may be bored, angry, unloved, or just plain mean. But that doesn't mean that jury duty is a joy. I hate the idea of arriving at the courthouse at 9 am, waiting for my name to be called (assuming that it DOES get called), and then sitting down and waiting some more for an Assistant D.A. or attorney for the defense tries to find out if I have preconceived ideas, relatives in law enforcement, or even post-nasal drip. Doesn't there seem to be a need for a better way? I mean, sometimes the trial gets postponed, dropped, settled, etc., before it even gets underway. And I have wasted my time going down there just to be told, "Never mind."

I have to report this Tuesday at 9 a.m. What can I bring? What can I do to occupy my mind until I am either seated or released? I could read a book. I could play with my phone until it dies. Maybe I could write letters. Let's see...return address....anything but Jury Commissioner.