A few months ago I received a letter in the mail calling me to perform my civic duty as a citizen of these here United States. No, I wasn’t asked to speak out about my political preferences or to knit hats for the Army. I was asked to show up for jury duty.

In the Commonwealth of Massachusetts they have a one-day required duty. If you show up, sit in the room and participate in a trial you are let off the hook for 3-years. Well, I was called to appear about 1 week after the 3 year anniversary of my first jury duty in this fair Commonwealth. The first time I was called (3-years ago), I showed up…read for the morning…and left at 1pm free as the breeze. I anticipated the same for this time around. Apparently 80% of the jurors in Mass serve for one day. They are either not picked or they are put on a trial that is short. Everyone I know here has had the same experience as I did the first time.

Honestly, I do not mind this call of duty.* I participated in an incredibly interesting trial before I left Georgia. This experience was valuable as I learned a ton about the justice system and how to commit arson and get caught. It was cool, very Twelve Angry Men and all that.

This time around, being the 3rd time that I’ve been a part of a jury pool, I knew to head out the door prepared. I figured that I would have the morning to knit and read and generally relax. However, my throat was sore, I had about a zillion deadlines at work to meet, and a very aggressive social schedule. Which made me worried about the prospect of actually being chosen. When brainstorming possible tactics that I could employ to guarantee a free afternoon my husband suggested that I simply, when questioned, start speaking in tongues and bang my head against the wall. But that would be embarrassing. I’m no good at embarrassing. I came up with another idea. The next morning (yesterday), I packed my bag for the day.

knitting. fruit. hard liquor.

I walked out the door and said to my husband, “Here’s to not getting chosen for a jury.”

Can you tell where this is going yet?

Can you see the fuzzy screen and hear the foreboding music?

I was picked for a trial.

A Criminal Trial.

A Criminal Trial that is supposed to last for at least five days.

Five.

Days.

The novelty of the justice system wore off about four minutes into this trial.

Worst part? Judges frown at knitting during testimonies.

Blech.

* I cannot hear the word “duty” without giggling just a little. Especially when a southerner says it. Oh, to be a four years old again.

PS - Thank you all for the kind words about the article. However, I’m not famous. You do realize that it is the type of paper that people get just to have something to line the hamster cage with, right?