Respect Authority

It was bound to happen. After watching probably 1,054 episodes of Law and Order over the last five years of my life, and that’s a conservative estimate, it was karmically inevitable that I would - within two years of actual New York City residency - be chosen for jury duty. 

All things considered, I have moved through the stages of grief with admirable aplomb. Denial — “The envelope went to my old address; I wonder if I can just pretend I never got it” — lasted only five minutes, before anger took over: “Fuck the justice system. Fuck it. I don’t want to judge the innocence or guilt of other people. I mean, not professionally. What I do in my spare time, on the subway, without any prompting and based entirely on first impressions, is my own business.” I then bypassed bargaining in favor of depression, and then - after considering how many Law and Order episodes I HAVE watched, and how really I never found Judge Judy/Mathis/Joe Brown/etc. all that boring, I thought, “Hm, maybe I’ll enjoy this.”

A quick Google search revealed that I’ve been summoned to civil court, which means (1) chances of a high-profile and absorbing case are minimal (fingers crossed for Brooke Astor’s son) and (2) all knowledge of the justice system that I’ve gleaned from multiple episodes of SVU is likely irrelevant. On the upshot, it seems unlikely I’d be stuck with the kind of case that drags on for weeks/months, good news for my employer.

So no, I don’t plan to dress in a costume, or spout disingenuous claims about racial bias and white power. Nor do I anticipate a 12 Angry Men scenario, where I’m stuck in a room with 11 moronic strangers for hours upon hours deciding the innocence or guilt of some hapless Brooklynite. I plan to be in, and out. 

Unless there’s free pizza.