Jury Duty

Jury duty combines two of my biggest fears: uncertainty and compulsory confinement.

Back in January, I got a jury summons for a day in February when I’d be out of town so I asked for an alternate date. I was given March twentieth, and for the past two months, that date has been lodged in my brain like a fishhook.

For me, things I don’t want to do but must do in the foreseeable future ignite an existential dread that keeps floating up to my surface awareness like a rotting corpse. No sooner do I get the thing over with than I begin obsessing over/trying to distract myself from my next horrible obligation.

With jury duty, there’s a number to call the evening before to see whether you are still required to report to the courthouse. I have never been excused, so I had steeled myself for the subsequent insidious day. Imagine my incredulity when at the other end of that call was a pre-recorded message that I need not report!

March 20^th was heaven, and I’d been expecting, at best, purgatory. Assuming I’d be languishing in the juror’s waiting room my schedule was blank, leaving me free to let the day unfold with no sense of urgency. My dear friend spontaneously stopped in for tea. I went to a thrift store and bought a vintage turquoise teapot for $5.00. I changed into sweatpants shortly after noon, that I might better revel in my unexpected liberty.

I am doing my best to frame Wednesday’s reprieve a clear win rather than a stay of execution, though technically The State can summon me again in a year. It’s not that I’ve overcome apprehension, but that I have a dentist’s appointment in two weeks and my sanity to maintain, so I’m taking things one dread at a time.