Dream the Impossible Dream

The day after we learned Melissa had lost her job, I received a summons to Jury Duty. We talked about asking for a deferral, but hey… We don’t have to make childcare arrangements now. And to be honest, a day alone after so much family time did not sound horrible. Plus, I was raised by this uber-patriotic crazywoman who taught American History. My mom likes to shout things like, “Rah rah, America!” as the parade rolls by and ugly cries at every single soldier reunion video on Facebook. That kind of stuff rubs off on you, ya know? So I was secretly more than a little geeked out at the idea of performing my civic duty today.

Plus… I’d get a day alone. There was no guarantee I’d be selected so I’d likely be sitting in a conference room all day waiting. Just me and my book. A cup of coffee that I could drink at it’s intended temperature. Maybe I could even pee alone. WHOA.

But, of course, I forgot about the tattoo.

See, I have this tattoo. I can’t see it, but I know it’s visible to others because the exact same scenario plays out each and every time I encounter new people. I enter a room of strangers and find a place to sit. A completely random, never-before-met individual sits next to me. I smile, they smile, then they see the tattoo on my forehead that says, “Tell me your life story!” Annnnnnd we’re off.

You think I’m exaggerating, I know. But I literally cannot make this stuff up. Take my recent trip to Philadelphia, for example. On my flight to Philly with Pook, I sat next to a woman who lived there and worked as a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company. She actually wrote her home address on a cocktail napkin so I could look her up “the next time I was in town” and offered us her guest room. While en route to the Children’s Hospital, the shuttle driver’s name was Floyd and he doesn’t understand why people don’t know where they’re going, can’t drive and are unable to give basic directions. Floyd has two daughters and actually prayed for Pook and I before we got off his bus. And on our flight home, I sat next to a lovely woman from Tennessee who has a twin brother named Dylan – they were adopted and both of their adopted parents are now deceased. She’s got a son who went to college and then took a job four hours away in Kentucky and she’s still not over it. Her son is dating a girl named Beth and when they unexpectedly came to visit, all the girls at her office were sure Beth was pregnant, but no.

So my dream of a quiet day alone was, as dreams go, completely unlikely. I should have known – I’m often told that I am flypaper for the freakalicious – but sometimes I forget. And, again, I was excited to be all civically responsible cuz I’m nerdy like that. Not only did I get drawn for a panel, I was then selected as a juror and then chosen as Jury Foreman. Our six person panel was comprised of:

me

Mariana – tried to get out of jury duty by showing up a day late for her summons, has a three year old daughter, got up at 5:30am today

Ed – 72 years old, married for 53 despite his sciatica and his wife’s uteran cancer, grew up in Oklahoma but moved here thirty years ago and has gone native

Sue – librarian, loves James Patterson books, served on a jury in California for three solid weeks in the 80’s, does acrylic nails as a side job

Tom – told everyone he had a wife but was seriously gay, has a father in law who’s bipolar and calls his three miniature poodles his “furbabies”

Wally – served on a jury for a murder trial two years ago and is still seeing a counselor for the things he saw in evidence, married with three kids in college, runs marathons

Look, people. I am all for kindness and being polite to strangers, but let’s draw a line here. If I can guess the answers to your security questions for online banking, chances are you’ve overshared. If you need to ask my first name after you’ve told me your entire job history, you might wanna hold back a bit. And if I know enough about you to find your soulmate via eHarmony questionnaire, it’s a fairly safe bet that you need to re-evaluate your own boundaries. I’m just saying.

But all was not lost. I did drink my coffee at the proper temperature and I sure as heck didn’t pee with Sue or Mariana. I learned that reporting a day late to jury duty is not an effective avoidance technique. And I’ve got a hookup if I’m ever in the market for a mani/pedi.

Oh, and the guy was guilty. Rah rah, America.