Taker Seaweed

Take:  To seize or capture; to get into one's hands, possession, or control, with or without force.
(Ed. Note: I like the implied threat of violence that hangs about the definition with the inclusion of "force." I'm coming to get your stuff, man - you can give it to me or I'm . . . going . . . to . . . take it).

Today is jury duty day, a day where the pride of civic duty, of doing my best to support the excellent structure of our society, mixes with the outrage that someone as important as me has to waste his time sitting in a stinking jury corral.  No one is very happy about jury duty and it's only the threat of a big ass fine or arrest that compels us to be there.  I'm sure if I had suffered some civic wrong or alleged criminal violation I'd want an engaged group of my fellow citizens to step up and do their part.  The irony that I can expect this engagement from others while simultaneously groaning at having to spend my precious time just being considered for such service for someone else is not lost on me.

One of the judges comes in and takes ten minutes to explain the theory behind a jury trial, emphasizing how rare this kind of open legal system is in the world.  It made me proud to be there but unfortunately didn't do anything to lessen my annoyance at having to be there.  I spent the entire day hoping that I didn't get selected.  When I received my jury summons the first thing I did was request a deferment as far into the future as was allowable.  When my reminder summons arrived - the one reminding me that I wasn't getting out of this - I specifically selected the day before Thanksgiving, calculating that if there was a day when most people wanted to get the hell out of a government building that would be one of them.

In retrospect this was a brilliant move on my part - there were 23 potential cases requesting a jury trial and precisely none of them moved far enough down the system to actually impanel a jury, resulting in a dismissal two hours early.  When the jury coordinator announced this, a big cheer went up in the room.  I was appalled and overjoyed.  I took my Proof of Jury Service paper and got . . . the . . . hell . . . out of there.

One jury summons from the ages of 18 to 58 - two jury summons in the last three years.

Not In My Backyard.