Well I'm finally situated in my new place. Originally, we were supposed to move the week leading up to August 1st, since that was when our old lease expired. So, i figured by August 4th I'd be done moving, and only mired in unpacking (which can take as much time as it needs, for all I care), and I resheduled my jury duty date to then. It had been schedued for thursday of Finals week, the day before a very tough final.
Of course we were too lazy for that to work. None of us at the old place remembered to turn in our 30-day's notice (the lease stipulates that if no notice is given, we would revert to a month-to-month agreement) until July 10th, so we were not to move out until midnight August 9th. Since neither of us moving into the new place wanted to spend the extra two weeks' rent, we instead found a place that we could move into august 6th.
You can see the problem. If I get picked, will I find myself having to juggle simultaneously jury duty, working 20-30 hours a week, a summer school class beginning, and work? Very difficult.
So, I was a little worried when I went in. I went in with a book, a water bottle, a clipboard, and a change of clothes should I be called (I went dressed in t-shirt and shorts, since courtroom attire is not well sutied to such a hot day). The guy sitting next to me was in his 30's, and commented that I looked as if I had done this before. He had always found an excuse, and had always avoided coming in. From his conversations on the phone, it sounded as if he wished he had avoided that day as well. He was, I gather, a corporate contact for Home Depot, and was arbitrating between a customer irate over an order with a high rate of defects, and Home Depot's buyer who had bought the items in the first place. Every time he tried to start discussing the problem, a list of jurors would be read, so he would say "Hold on, let me call you back." Jury duty must make work so inconvenient.
After about two lists, I realize that they read the lists in alphabetical order. So, on the fourth list, I hear a name that I think is after mine. I was wrong. So, I hurried to the bathroom, made myself presentable, and wandered through the labyrintine layout of the San Diego Courthouse.
Since I take longer than most other people (who came suitably dressed), there are no seats left. So, for a few minutes, I wander around, watching the trolley and the cars below. I worry, torn between my curiosity and feelings of civic duty, and my need for time. After about fifteen minutes of pining, a short woman emerges from the courtroom. She announces that we will not be needed after all. So like a herd of elephants, we march back down to the jury services lounge.
My pragmatism taking the lead, I try to wander more slowly than the rest, perchance thinking that it will make me just that much less likely to be called again. When I get down there, I see the people ahead of me dropping off their badges. We are done, says the woman behind the counter. Go home. I walk outside feeling lucky. Jury duty is over after just 2 hours.
After that, my move goes well. My roomate borrowed a friend's truck, and my other roomate's dad brought his truck. Between the two, we were able to get almost all of the heavy stuff moved. The rest went too smoothly to bother talking about. And so, here I am, lacking only a bed to make my room complete.
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