Dead Blogging: Jury Rigged
My dream of live blogging from jury duty died today. Since I’m not live blogging, I guess that means this this post-dated post (PDP) is a form of dead blogging. I kinda like the sound of that.
Live blogging is the act of writing, blogging and/or tweeting about events happening in real-time and as they happen.
Therefore, the logical extension of that definition is when real-time blogging is delayed, it must be dead. This is sure to be a hit with procrastinators like me. Blawg ya laterz! Rawr!
Without further ado, here is my dead blogging feed from day one of jury duty:
7:40am – The luxurious juror parking lot is blocks away from the Courthouse. After walking several blocks we finally pass by the lot where the judges, attorneys and staff get to park.
7:45 – Trudging up the steps to the Courthouse. Why do Courthouses always have to be higher than every other building in sight? I think it’s about justice and equality, with the Courthouse being just a bit more “equal” than everywhere else.
7:46 – Four human bodies can’t fit in the doorway at the same time. Noted.
7:47 – Handed a clipboard by a perky and very nice looking – OMFG!!! Turd buckets!!! Look at the size of that fucking form!
7:49 – Trying to write on my lap since no surface is provided.
7:51 – Analyzing the section about what to do if your employer offers jury duty pay. Does not compute. Where’s the checkbox for “The douchenozzle hates freedom?”
7:52 – Trying to grapple with an essay question regarding my feelings towards alcohol. Wondering if I’ll get in trouble for writing, “Hells, yeah!”
8:05 – Wondering if the world would come to an end if orientation actually started on time.
8:08 – Being told by the jury coordinator that today is going to be more “chaotic” than normal and that the room isn’t big enough to hold us all so we’ll have to “snuggle up” with our neighbor. Of course my “neighbor” is already touching me and, for bonus, has a lovely “I just threw up” smell.
8:20 – Jury instructions consist of 30 seconds of useful information and 19 minutes and 30 seconds of trying to convince me to give up the whopping $10 a day I’m earning for going a day without work. The word “donate” is being bandied about. The phrase “cold dead fingers” leaps unbidden to my cerebral cortex. I squirm in my uncomfortable chair and glare at the jury assistant.
8:21 to 8:41 – The video. ‘Nuff said. Can’t … speak … must … hang … on.
8:45 – Here comes da judge! What? A stand up routine? Ok. Perhaps this will be fun after all.
8:47 – Fuck. Now the judge is all serious and shit.
9:00 – The jury assistant is explaining more rules. No phones, no guns, no knives, and, this is a verbatim quote, “no blogging.”
9:01 to 9:06 – More stuff about important juror concerns like parking and weapons.
9:07 – There will be a slight delay as staff disappears to figure out what the hell might happen today. Apparently today is especially wonky.
9:08 – Now we’re being told what restrooms we can use. I want my mommy!
9:09 – They have commenced with the reading of The Long List of Numbers. This, of course, has been scientifically proven to put jurors into an “unbiased” state.
9:15 – What the hell? They didn’t call my number. I’m told I can leave.
9:17 – Sardines swim towards a small opening known as The Door. I hate everyone.
9:19 – Now I know why I hate “The Cloud.” I’m at the rear edge of a human-puffed mushroom cloud. Why am I the only non-smoker in a four-block radius?
9:30 – Finally! I’m safely at someplace where I can relax and have some fun. Work! (Now I know I’m sick.)
4:45 to 4:50pm – Calling the automated hotline. It takes them five whopping minutes to get to my number. I’m on deck for tomorrow.
Stay tuned for more dead blogging entries mere hours and days after they actually happened…
Down on the corner
Why is it that the drive to/from work is quite often the worst thing that happens to me on some days?
That was rhetorical but I’ll answer anyway. Some people do not deserve to live. I’ve elected myself judge and jury. Unfortunately, I just don’t (usually) have what it takes to be the executioner.
Does that make me passive-aggressive if I leave it to some unknown stranger to clean up that mess?
Here’s today’s story.
I’m driving to work and about to turn right on the cul-de-sac. These two scruffy looking nerf herders, one male and one female, both young, were standing on the corner looking like they might be about to cross the intersection where I need to turn.
My spidey sense was tingling.
As a super-human (one that uses his brain) I did what came natural. I slowed to a crawl and watched them carefully trying to judge what could possibly be their intent.
Finally at a complete stop I still watched. Suddenly they departed from the corner and entered the intersection, just like I thought! They didn’t look for cars at all. Idiots. They seemed more preoccupied with something in the sky. Maybe their auras were intersecting with rainbows being used as slip-n-slides by unicorns. Who knows?
They stumbled drunkenly about half way through the intersection. Slow – as – hell. Finally the gap was big enough for me to go. I proceeded with caution.
Aha! One of them changed course and walked back in front of my car. Again no looking around for cars on a street. They couldn’t possible be found there, right?
By this point I was beyond flabbergastion. I glared and mouthed words at ’em. They looked bewildered. “What is this street thing we’ve found?” they seemed to be asking themselves.
Finally I got past and found my parking spot. Geez. What an ordeal. But wait, there’s more. They were walking down the middle of the street in my general direction.
This brings us to the unusual part…
Quite out of character, I got out of my car and headed at them.
“Sup?” I yelled while gesturing towards the heavens.
“You got a light?” they asked.
Whiskey tango foxtrot. Could they be any more fucking oblivious?
“What the hell are you doing standing around in the middle of the street,” I yelled some more.
At last they seemed to get that something was up. A few more exchanges like this and finally the male said something like, “Dude. You need to chill.”
“How the fuck are you still alive?” I demanded to know.
Sadly, I never got an answer. They just blithely moved on down the street. I leaned against my building and watched. After all, they knew my car and where I parked. I watched them approach several more people, probably in their personal Quest For Fire. They certainly fit the part.
Apparently the only thing that mattered in their miserable lives was the need to smoke. And yet, they seemingly were too dumb to plan ahead enough to maintain the necessary accoutrement in their possession to engage in that activity, like matches or a lighter or two sticks to rub together or something. So they were reduced to begging to satisfy their addiction. It seemed to be the single thing they were able to focus on.
They entered a parking lot at the end of the cul-de-sac and approached someone in a truck. I couldn’t hear but words were exchanged. After a while they wandered back into the street again. At this point I was extremely curious about where the hell they could possibly be going.
I went to work and vented about the experience to my boss. As we looked out the window, there the young idiots went, back up the street and out the same cul-de-sac they just went down. And they were walking in the middle of the street!
They finally arrived back at the same corner where I first encountered them and stood there for a while, looking around and up at the sky.
A few minutes later I went back to see what they were up to but they were gone.
Hopefully some nice stranger beheaded them for me. Fucking assholes.
Please enjoy the musical selection for this post:
Shouts from the Abyss 
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