Yesterday I reported to the Seminole County Civil Courthouse in downtown Sanford to serve my called upon duty as a prospective juror. Like the two other times over the past decade I'd been called up, I didn't get to serve on a jury. Like the last time back in 2011 or so, I just waited the whole day in the jury waiting area. But this time it was not in the comfortable, modern and perk-filled space allocated for this purpose by the wealthier Orange County Court system but it meant I was relegated to staring at four blank walls in a dated, poorly air-conditioned depressing room with a single pot of stale coffee as accommodation provided by this county.
But it gave me time to reflect. Especially as my phone's battery life dwindled during the later part of the afternoon and it became necessary to just stare out the grimy window at the beautifully sunny and warm day I was forced to let slip by.
Much in the same light as when we, as citizens, are called up to perform our civic duty and serve as an impartial juror to hear out the case of one of our peers, we all have a civic duty to ourselves, so to speak, to honestly assess the decisions we make in directing our own lives.
As I was in these thoughts, Ric texted me saying he was going to Gator's at 6:00 and asked me to join him. As luck would have it, the long, arduous and utterly boring day I'd been forced to endure was drawing to a close and we remaining juror chaff were allowed to be whisked away into the wind.
Ric and I sat on the outdoor patio of the bar and sipped our beers out of our shared pitchers one after the other. Our conversation was stilted and, I think for him as well, boring. You see, we just don't have much in common anymore. He talked of his bicycles and I recalled my dreary day. It felt like the depressing atmosphere of that gloomy juror lounge was still around me. And instead of getting more convivial as the alcohol took hold within us it just made things worse. I was failing to feel any euphoric lightness, becoming just more depressed and worried about driving home while he was turned amazingly quickly into his usual boorish drunk dickhead insulting me through rather blunt passive-aggressiveness in virtually every sentence he uttered. Needless to say I left early.
So perhaps last night I did in fact get to participate in a jury of sorts. A jury of one. And after weighing the decades of evidence built up since 1998 I've had to come to a verdict. I think we know what that verdict is. Now the only question is, in my alternate role as judge, what sentence shall be bestowed upon him?
But it gave me time to reflect. Especially as my phone's battery life dwindled during the later part of the afternoon and it became necessary to just stare out the grimy window at the beautifully sunny and warm day I was forced to let slip by.
Much in the same light as when we, as citizens, are called up to perform our civic duty and serve as an impartial juror to hear out the case of one of our peers, we all have a civic duty to ourselves, so to speak, to honestly assess the decisions we make in directing our own lives.
As I was in these thoughts, Ric texted me saying he was going to Gator's at 6:00 and asked me to join him. As luck would have it, the long, arduous and utterly boring day I'd been forced to endure was drawing to a close and we remaining juror chaff were allowed to be whisked away into the wind.
Ric and I sat on the outdoor patio of the bar and sipped our beers out of our shared pitchers one after the other. Our conversation was stilted and, I think for him as well, boring. You see, we just don't have much in common anymore. He talked of his bicycles and I recalled my dreary day. It felt like the depressing atmosphere of that gloomy juror lounge was still around me. And instead of getting more convivial as the alcohol took hold within us it just made things worse. I was failing to feel any euphoric lightness, becoming just more depressed and worried about driving home while he was turned amazingly quickly into his usual boorish drunk dickhead insulting me through rather blunt passive-aggressiveness in virtually every sentence he uttered. Needless to say I left early.
So perhaps last night I did in fact get to participate in a jury of sorts. A jury of one. And after weighing the decades of evidence built up since 1998 I've had to come to a verdict. I think we know what that verdict is. Now the only question is, in my alternate role as judge, what sentence shall be bestowed upon him?