Guilty, guilty, guilty...

Rick and I watched that movie “Stranger Than Fiction” last night – the one where Will Ferrell hears the voice of a writer narrating his life. It was interesting to see Will Ferrell in something that was sort of half comedy/half drama, instead of his usual strictly-comedic performances. And I actually liked the movie a lot – it delved into the whole process of writing, and the frustrations of writer’s block, and the strange places one might look for inspiration. And I loved Dustin Hoffman’s caffeine-addicted character. When we first see him, he takes a cup of coffee into a bathroom at the college where he works (and keeps right on drinking), then moves out to a coffee machine in the hallway to buy another cup, and then, not ten seconds later, he opens the door to his office – where a pot of coffee is brewing in the corner. He’s like the coffee-equivalent of a chain-smoker.

Anyway, the movie was a good distraction to get my mind off the fact that I must head up to the Williamson County Justice Center tomorrow morning. This whole jury duty thing has been tormenting me for the last week and a half. (And by the way, don’t they usually give you MORE than a week and half’s notice? Don’t they usually give you plenty of time to buy a plane ticket to Borneo, and then you can make a phone call from Borneo, and you can say “hey, I’m in Borneo! I’ll send ya a post card, but I certainly can’t show up for jury duty! Oh well! See ya later! Borneo rules!” Huh? Don’t they usually give you plenty of run-away-to-Borneo time??) Rick is quite convinced that I’ll be selected for a jury, as I’m such a nice, “balanced” person. Although I’m not sure I would call myself “balanced”… struggling to be balanced, perhaps, and frequently missing the mark… but certainly not always balanced… Maybe I should say I APPEAR to be balanced, and since I won’t be spending a whole lot of time with these people tomorrow, they’ll never really know who I am… and that’s just kind of strange to me…

I’ve been given all kinds of advice for avoiding selection: When asked a question, I should say, “I need to converse with the voices in my head before I can answer that”; I should show up dressed like a hippy and banging a tambourine; when I walk into the courtroom, I should start chanting “guilty, guilty, guilty”; I should make sure everyone knows my younger brother is a police officer, or, conversely, I should make sure everyone knows my older brother had plenty of run-ins with the law when he was younger. (Darn it… I really AM too balanced…)

And then there’s the question of what to wear – the summons says I should “be dressed in clothing reasonably befitting the dignity and solemnity of the court proceedings.” Uh, okay. What do I have in my closet that says “dignified and solemn”? Should I dress all in black? Do I need to look like a widow in mourning? Should I throw on a lace veil for good measure? Or are we talking less “mourning” and more “high tea with the queen”? A ruffled dress and white gloves, perhaps? A little hat with a fabric flower? Will there be cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off? And what if MY idea of “court proceedings” is different than whoever sends out these summons? I mean, what if, when I think “court proceedings” I’m thinking “ridiculous circus”? And exactly how long would I be free to walk around in my clown costume before they tossed me in jail? So many questions…

I’m also slightly disturbed by one small bit of information included on this summons. I’m supposed to fill out the little questionnaire on the back with my name, address, phone number, etc. Okay, no big deal. And then I read this sentence at the top of the questionnaire: “Your answers are confidential, and may be disclosed only to the judge, court personnel, the litigant, and the litigant’s attorney.” Wait, hold on – the litigant? Isn’t that, like, the person who did the bad thing (I’m sorry – allegedly did the bad thing) and whose fate may now rest with a bunch of strangers who’ve been forced to give the bad person (I’m sorry, again – alleged bad person) their NAMES and ADDRESSES?? How do I know that if I send this (alleged) bad person off to prison (at which time it will be apparent that said person IS, in fact, bad), he or she will not spend their locked-up time compiling a concise list of all those jurors who obviously misunderstood the entire situation, so that Bad Person can, once released, show up at each juror’s doorstep to “explain” more clearly?? I mean, providing the person on trial with names and addressees of everyone on the jury can NOT be an intelligent thing, right? Am I completely missing something? Am I using the word “litigant” in the wrong way? Maybe a litigant is something else entirely… maybe a litigant is a cute little innocent puppy dog who just wants to go for a walk in the park…

Ugh… all I know is that my stomach is already tying itself into “don’t make me do this” knots of impending doom. I guess I should go iron my clown costume…