I thought they’d forgotten about it. A couple of months ago, when I received notification of the impending summons, I actually thought, “Well, this certainly blows, but hey, they’ll probably just forget about me.” As each week passed with no further notification, I thought all was smooooth sailing. But no. This afternoon: my boat, she was rocked.
Now, I know I’m supposed to be honored that the good state of New York values me as a citizen, and I’m supposed to go around saying, “I’m proud to do my duty for my country,” and say it doesn’t bother me. I’m expected to say it’s the least I can do and that I’ll take my duty very seriously. But I’m not. And I can’t.
Why do I see myself, once chosen (because you just know they’re going to pick me, even after I tell them I beat babies, believe in capital punishment even for non-criminals, and answer every question with a hearty “Ziminee zow!”), entering the courtroom on the first day of the trial, dressed in a huge bathrobe, a string mop atop my head, carrying a cardboard briefcase on which I will have scrawled JURY DOODY in thick black El Marko? And why do I see myself in the little room where the fate of the defendant is decided, slurping lo mein noodles from a take-out carton and doodling the defendant with Xs for eyes, his tongue lolling from his mouth, and his neck snapped in stick-figure gallows a la “hangman”?
The only upside to this entire fiasco is that I’ll have something semi-amusing to report on the afternoon of THURSDAY JANUARY 23RD, 2003.