Let's see here...changing diapers. Kissing your 100 year-old aunt. Getting your oil changed. Standing in line at the DMV. Attending Christmas pageants. Purchasing (and selling) coffee, raffle tickets, garbage bags, flowers, wreaths, candy and cookies on behalf of children in your family and neighborhood. Wathcing Fox and Friends in the morning with your wife. The annual turn and cough grab. Jury duty.
All these things rank just below dental instrument jabs on the popular and world accepted list of Things You Feel Morally Or Legally Obliged To Do But Would Rather Be On Fire For Three Minutes And Have A Doctor's Excuse Note to get out of it list we all carry in our pockets.
I recently had the wonderful opportunity to serve jury duty. "Serve" is an excellent word for it. One might be inclined to say "attend" or "perform", but they would be innacurate. You "attend" a baseball game and can drink beer or eat a footlong, laugh, holler and leave whenever your team begins to stink. In KC, that moment comes whenever Zach Grienke is not physically touching the ball. You could "perform" a one man improvisational comedy routine at a local establishment to the joy and applause of everyone there and earn the adoration and fame that comes with such an act...If only you still had your chops from 20 years ago.
You "serve" jury duty. You start to involve the goverment, courts and bleach-wigged barristers in things and everything is about being served. You get "served" a subpeona. You "serve" jail time for holding a glass container outside a Mazatlan discotheque at 4:30 in the a.m. and you "serve" up a $20 bill and your more-worn-than-Wetteland Yankees cap to avoid "serving" more than that 3 hours of jail time in said Mexican holding cell. You "serve" your community after an MIP by cleaning trash near the highway from Laramie to Cheyenne, Wyoming. Most of the time, you've simply been "over-served" to begin with.
At jury duty, you get the chance to "serve" or be "served", as in, "You missed Jury Duty when we asked you to be there...Here's your fine and bench warrant. Ha! You got SERVED!"
Jury duty is awesome. There are many aspects of it that people who've never been part of it will really be jealous about missing. First, there's the unbelievable people-watching. You want to see a melting pot? It takes a village to raise a jury, and folks from every single solitary walk of life roll into that holding cell...err...waiting area for this pleasurable three hour staring contest. Some people realize they might know somebody and stare around the room for the three hours, praying their neighbor or local grocery store manager is there so they can go sit with them and bitch. Others stare at the ground or the back of their eyelids. More still create new "friends" and bitch about being there for three hours. That room should be called the Bitch Room.
Boredom reigns...until the movie starts. This is my second go round at JD since moving to KC. The last time, a weird woman who memorized her life for a living recited some important facts about completing our civic duty. This time, KC's finest celebrities made this awesome infommercial that really had me hooked. George Brett was the star. He wore some sweet khakis and deck shoes (no socks...totally laid-back-ready-to-head-to-the-golf-course-George look) with an equally awesome untucked Tommy Bahama number. Local news anchor Elizabeth "Probably Pretty Salty Twenty Years Ago" Alex was his co-host and the "serious" of the two. Throw in Charles Gusewelle and weatherman Bryan "Cleveland" Busby, and you had the veritable Who's Who of people that ought to make me love this civic duty of the KC scene. It was a good move on the part of Jackson County, but my gut tells me that George makes more money shooting 78 at Wolf Creek than he did for that three hour shoot, and was none to happy to "serve" his community by doing it.
Around 11:30 (or 3.5 hours of wishing I'd brought a book or could magically melt into the floor), 70 of the roughly 300 people in the pool were asked to scoot on upstairs to the courtroom for selection and assigned a number (yours truly at number 31). The other 230 people were sent home with their $6 check and a promise not to be bothered until 2012.
The next 18 hours until I left were a blur. Both sides of the case asked questions of the "panel" to try to vet the best 14 for their purposes. The closest I've ever come to being on a "panel" before was in 1988 when I went down the stairs of the Sigma Nu house on skis and embraced the wood paneling on the other side of the room. I was only on that panel for a very brief time before retreating to become part of the floor for the rest of the evening.
The very best part of the panel vetting and jury selection comes in the form of "That Guy" who really doesn't want to be part of this jury. You know the guy...
He's the same guy that is so insolent and bold that he's been slapped by hundreds more women than he's ever dated, and he still thinks that 15 year old pick up line is going to work. He's the same guy that fights his Grandpa and insists that he was defending himself. He's that guy you want to punch in the face just to hear the rest of the panel stand up and scream, clapping wildly as they put you on their shoulders and carry you out of the courthouse (the judge and lawyers are cheering just as hard).
In our case, "That Guy" was really on his game.
Prosecuting Attorney- "Raise your hand if you're simply too bigoted and backwards to trust that Police have sworn to take an oath to tell the truth, and that the presence of a Policeman on the witness stand will not cause you to hate the defense."
That Guy: (Hand flies up faster than Usain Bolt's feet) "Oooh!! Oooh!! Meeee! Meee! I hate cops, Man, hate em."
Prosecuting Attorney: "Duly noted." (Scratches something on a notepad)
Defense Attorney: (Under his breath and with great joy) "I've gotta have this guy..."
But it gets better.
Defense Attorney: "Does anyone in the courtroom, just by looking at the defendant here, at his skin color or appearance, feel that they cannot be fair and impartial and uphold your sworn oath to find the defendant INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY? Anybody?
That Guy: (In his best Horseshack immitation) "Ooohh!!!! Ooooh!! Me, me!!!! I mean look at him, man. He looks so, well, mean and horrible and not white! Guilty! I hate that guy already!"
"That Guy" deserved 69 knuckle sandwiches.
He and I are not serving on the actual jury this week, and for that I am extremely grateful. We were both excused; me with my dignity and he having been forced to sit through the same amount of waiting as the rest of us. His dream of being tossed early for blatant idiocy was never granted by the Judge, who I presume has seen enough "That Guy's" in his day to enjoy watching them have to sweat it out even after making 69 enemies for two days.
My sincere hope is that That Guy does something stupid or gets sued about three years from now and the judge calls a special panel of the "November 69" (as the rest of us that had to put up with him have come to be known) and we get the chance to "serve" at his trial. He will be served well-done.
