I remember turning 18 and being told that I was then eligible to serve as a juror, and thinking how cool it would be. I grew up watching Law & Order and all sorts of other legal/detective dramas, and multiple standardized occupation tests in middle and high school came to the conclusion that I should be either a lawyer or a civil engineer. I'm sure all my civil engineer friends from college would laugh at the latter, as I've avoided complicated math ever since I aced the advanced placement calculus test senior year, but mathematics used to be a talent of mine. And although the words "magical thinking" do not carry the same connotation for me that they do for most people, I still have a pretty logical mind, even when I decide that in certain situations it doesn't really apply.
Thus, when I went to college, I majored in government, assuming I'd become a lawyer some day. After a summer at a personal injury law firm, it seemed possible. When my first creative writing professor told me I had talent, my courage shifted elsewhere. After working my first real job as a paralegal at a multinational law firm in Manhattan, I knew that there was no chance I would ever go to law school.
I still remember the office party where the millionaire partner I'd been working with had asked me if I was planning to go to law school, and when I gave him the standard fib, "I'm thinking about it," he replied, "Good! If you'd said yes, we'd have to fire you for being an idiot! The junior executives at Goldman Sachs got thirty million dollar bonuses the other day! Bonuses! How do you go to work the next day?" I've internalized the lesson that no matter what you have or what you do, if you're only in it for money, someone else will have more, and that's all you'll think about. That is, unless you're like that investment banker who went to Mexico in search of fungi and shared his findings with the world. When I found some for (kind of) the 1st time at Bonnaroo after graduating college in 2006, I became convinced that the world was a magical poetry journey, and naturally found myself working for one of the five largest multinational corporate law firms in the world four months later. A year after that, I went back to Bonnaroo, and I wouldn't experience the legal realm for 11 years...
Well, the inevitable finally happened. I got called for jury duty after fifteen years of eligibility. Of course it had to be two weeks before taxes are due, and two months before I'm planning to use my vacation and some extra time to visit my sister and nephew in Europe.
When I found out, I did the most logical thing. I asked my best friend, who recently was admitted to the bar, for free advice on how to get out of it. You see, my enthusiasm for serving waned significantly when I read that you're only paid $40 per day. As my father said, the juries are the ones really getting punished in these long cases. You can't even pay rent on $40 a day in NYC, let alone eat so you can stay alive, pay for transportation to the courthouse, and God forbid you've got student loans or enjoy doing anything else! My friend joked that I should say that I'm prejudiced against all races, and then said I should just answer that I cannot be impartial. His girlfriend, also a lawyer, said that telling the truth about my financial situation should get me out of it.
So I told my work, gave my students a heads up, and reported for duty on April 3. We sat in a room for an hour, having filled out some paperwork, and then they randomly called 37 names to go to an adjacent room for jury selection. I was number 27. I sat in the back, and they interviewed the ten people up front, while speaking loud enough so everyone could get an idea about what kind of case it was. Somehow that questioning took from 10 am until 4 pm (with a break for lunch). It was a civil case, and the jury was going to be asked to assess the damages, possibly without knowing many facts about the accident that had caused injuries. Being a writer, I tend to want the whole story, so I knew that I was going to have some issues with this whole jury service.
I already had my excuses lined up. I worked for a personal injury law firm the summer after my freshman year of college, and often had to read through medical reports to organize symptoms reported by clients in class action cases. One of my mentors and father's hunting buddies (who pointed him in the direction of our adopted hometown in upstate New York) is a U.S. attorney, and in high school my friend and I watched him in action in federal court. On the way home, he told us how insurance companies are always trying to **** people out of their money (no offense to anyone who works in insurance; my first ever hitchhiking ride in North Carolina was with a well-traveled and well-read insurance salesman, and we talked about classic literature and Tom Robbins the whole time). I painted that same attorney's house to earn money to go to India, and then I painted the house across the street, which was owned by a retired elevator worker from NYC. He'd once done repairs on the World Trade Center. I remember him telling me that during a break. Since this case involved an elevator, I figured that was relevant. Then there was growing up with many visits to hospital waiting rooms and my sister having all sorts of back problems, so I figured that would make me biased when hearing about the plaintiff's pains. I also remember going to the emergency room 30 minutes away in Bennington, Vermont, the night I got punched in the head twice outside the only bar in my thousand-human hometown, because someone had told me that if there were any damage to my brain and I would want to hold the drunken assailant financially accountable, I would have to visit the hospital that very night. And while emergency room waiting, I heard so many moans and groans from old people in unimaginable pain that I seriously thanked the universe for giving me the life it has and am seriously counting my blessings of my general moment to moment existence this very second. So I think I'd be a little partial toward those who are physically suffering. On top of all of that, there were two defendants in the case, and one involved a union. So if none of that other stuff worked and they really wanted me on the jury for some inexplicable reason, I was prepared to tell them what a fan I was of Woody Guthrie, which is true. Bob Dylan is my original hero, but it's always good to learn about your hero's heroes.
About a year ago I found one of those streaming sites and created a playlist for driving when I'm visiting my hometown, driving anywhere in nature, playing cards with friends or savoring a very well-deserved beer like I am right now.
Guthrie's "Hard Travelin'" is one of the best on the list. It's basically about getting your butt kicked while doing manual labor for very little compensation. In order to further demonstrate my sympathy for those who sacrifice their bodies to get by in life, I was also prepared to recite the lyrics to "Easy Wind" by The Grateful Dead, "Cumberland Blues" by the same, "Maggie's Farm" by Bob Dylan, "Whipping Post" by The Allman Brothers Band, "Highwayman" by The Highwaymen, "Fish and Whistle" by John Prine, "Wanted Man" by Johnny Cash, "John Henry's Blues" by Tangle Eye, "Salt of the Earth" by the Rolling Stones (and covered by Mavis Staples, whom I saw sing "The Weight" with The Decemberists while blissed at the "circus") and "Railroad" performed by Bela Fleck with Abigail Washburn on vocals. I've only had a few manual labor jobs in my life (not counting unpaid labor for my dad my entire life), and I've generally found that many owners don't care so much about their workers' health, safety, or compensation (with the exception of the Christmas Tree farm and the organic vegetable farm). Working wine harvest in Sonoma was infinitely more difficult (and satisfying) than arranging signature pages, editing documents and preparing closing binders in midtown Manhattan, and paid about half the wages without any benefits.
Of course, none of that mattered the first day, because they picked their six jurors, and then needed four alternates. Two of the three lawyers had interviewed the first five people remaining, and the third was about to go. I was waiting on deck if they didn't like anything about any of those five. Then 4 pm came around, and they told us to go home and come back the next day. So I called work, they got some subs again, and I got to sleep another hour.
On Wednesday I went back, and it took about forty-five minutes. They excused all five of the jurors we'd been waiting on, so we were called up for questioning. I'd checked on the questionnaire that I did in fact want to discuss something with them in private. I thought it strange that nobody else had done that the day before, and they'd wasted many minutes on each person before they unearthed information that would disqualify them. It seemed that despite the cliche that most Americans want to get out of jury duty, the majority in the room seemed at least determined to state for the record that they thought they could be impartial. What's so great about always being impartial?
Another question that might have disqualified me was if I've ever been the victim of or witness to a crime. When I saw that white-haired Santa Claus doppelganger/bouncer outside the Bog getting his face kicked in and cowering beneath a truck bed, I wasn't impartial, and that's why I also got attacked. Yes, they need an impartial jury. That's obviously the way to go. I just don't see any virtue in trying to convince people you're impartial when, scientifically, I find that to be very unlikely, especially when chatting with other prospective jurors. We're all biased on account of our experiences.
Well, when they read my questionnaire, they took me into the hallway immediately. They'd done that eventually with a few others at some point during their questioning, but I was the first that they didn't waste any questions on. I suppose that isn't that surprising, given that I'd checked every single box when they'd asked if I was or was close to anyone who was in the legal, medical, insurance, criminal justice or county service professions. I was mentored by, worked with, and am friends with many lawyers, am friends with a few doctors, have a friend in insurance, my grandfather was a state trooper and my mother was a county social worker. I'd also written in the "Hobbies" section (definitely not in order of importance, but instead with respect to being salutary): "Politics, discussing the law with my defense attorney friends, writing, reading, hiking, traveling."
Once in the hallway, I simply told them it was financially impossible for me to miss two weeks of work, especially right before taxes are due. They immediately excused me and gave me my jury card back, and I was outta there. I think it was the youngest one, with a beard. The other defense attorney also had a beard. That was my final backup plan, if the other ones hadn't worked. I'd had a feeling they weren't going to pick me anyway, as I had been wearing a "Beatles" shirt underneath my unbuttoned dress shirt the first day, and they'd smiled at me in the hallway. On Wednesday I came back with my tie-dyed Bonnaroo shirt on underneath an unbuttoned dress shirt, and I think they got the idea. Speaking of which, I got that idea from another teacher who had told me he'd worn a "Free Pussy Riot" t-shirt when he'd gone, and that had gotten him excused immediately. The best part was that I had a free day after that.
The thing that stuck in my mind later though was when the personal injury attorney had said, "Good luck with that," referring to my finances. The irony was that I'd almost become a lawyer. On top of that, several of my friends and respected elders are lawyers, and I think they do great work to help society. They like their jobs and make good livings. I could have been asking the questions. One of the lawyers appeared to be in his 30's.
As I said, I was wearing my Bonnaroo shirt, which I got in Manchester, Tennessee in 2007. When I drove down to that festival 11 years ago, I got a call offering me a job at a publishing company. When I got back, I gave my two weeks notice at the law firm, and I haven't considered that as a profession ever since. Recently I've gotten an earful about what it's like from my one of my best friends, but I haven't joined him in participating. I just tend to think, "Good luck with that."
Well, I got out of jury duty, thanks to having little money, but at the literal cost of having money. It would have only been more ironic if they'd chosen me, forced me to serve, and made me homeless by depriving me of two weeks' wages at a time when my finances are actually better than they've been in years. Perhaps I was steering away from the path my father had envisioned. He always used to joke that I would grow up to be a "homeless lawyer."
In any case, I went back to work this morning, and although I truly appreciated it before (especially when compared to crushing grapes 11 hours a day) I realized not only how enjoyable my job is, but how miraculous. Out of everything I've seen on this Earth, I get to wake up in a tiny room in Harlem, Manhattan, New York, New York, United States of America/go Vespucci, Earth, Milky Way, Universe, get on a fast moving platform, listen to any music I desire, read whatever I want, look at all sorts of beautiful people, go above ground in Times Square (with either heroes or lingerie models greeting me, and always "Aladdin" on Broadway, and sometimes "The Lion King"), walk a few crowded blocks through the fashionistas and sometimes running into a friend of my civil engineer college roommate who once let me play for their basketball team, go to a building, ride the elevator to the 11th floor, sit in a room with people from around the world, educate them at the highest level with respect to the language of communication I was reared upon and which defines my reality, and then go enjoy all the treasures of modern existence.
Today we were practicing speaking for the TOEFL test, and there was a different interesting topic every three minutes. My job isn't perfect, and it isn't for life, and I'm still jealous of many people I know who seem to be impacting the world at a higher level. Also, I admit that at my age, earning much more money makes lots of sense, and I've learned from others that I can do it while still enjoying my life and without selling my soul. I'm working that out now. But as I think of the years that intervened between '07-'18, I'm so thankful I bought (and continue enjoying) a ticket to the show and followed my bliss, whichever way the universe leads me every day
Thus, when I went to college, I majored in government, assuming I'd become a lawyer some day. After a summer at a personal injury law firm, it seemed possible. When my first creative writing professor told me I had talent, my courage shifted elsewhere. After working my first real job as a paralegal at a multinational law firm in Manhattan, I knew that there was no chance I would ever go to law school.
I still remember the office party where the millionaire partner I'd been working with had asked me if I was planning to go to law school, and when I gave him the standard fib, "I'm thinking about it," he replied, "Good! If you'd said yes, we'd have to fire you for being an idiot! The junior executives at Goldman Sachs got thirty million dollar bonuses the other day! Bonuses! How do you go to work the next day?" I've internalized the lesson that no matter what you have or what you do, if you're only in it for money, someone else will have more, and that's all you'll think about. That is, unless you're like that investment banker who went to Mexico in search of fungi and shared his findings with the world. When I found some for (kind of) the 1st time at Bonnaroo after graduating college in 2006, I became convinced that the world was a magical poetry journey, and naturally found myself working for one of the five largest multinational corporate law firms in the world four months later. A year after that, I went back to Bonnaroo, and I wouldn't experience the legal realm for 11 years...
Well, the inevitable finally happened. I got called for jury duty after fifteen years of eligibility. Of course it had to be two weeks before taxes are due, and two months before I'm planning to use my vacation and some extra time to visit my sister and nephew in Europe.
When I found out, I did the most logical thing. I asked my best friend, who recently was admitted to the bar, for free advice on how to get out of it. You see, my enthusiasm for serving waned significantly when I read that you're only paid $40 per day. As my father said, the juries are the ones really getting punished in these long cases. You can't even pay rent on $40 a day in NYC, let alone eat so you can stay alive, pay for transportation to the courthouse, and God forbid you've got student loans or enjoy doing anything else! My friend joked that I should say that I'm prejudiced against all races, and then said I should just answer that I cannot be impartial. His girlfriend, also a lawyer, said that telling the truth about my financial situation should get me out of it.
So I told my work, gave my students a heads up, and reported for duty on April 3. We sat in a room for an hour, having filled out some paperwork, and then they randomly called 37 names to go to an adjacent room for jury selection. I was number 27. I sat in the back, and they interviewed the ten people up front, while speaking loud enough so everyone could get an idea about what kind of case it was. Somehow that questioning took from 10 am until 4 pm (with a break for lunch). It was a civil case, and the jury was going to be asked to assess the damages, possibly without knowing many facts about the accident that had caused injuries. Being a writer, I tend to want the whole story, so I knew that I was going to have some issues with this whole jury service.
I already had my excuses lined up. I worked for a personal injury law firm the summer after my freshman year of college, and often had to read through medical reports to organize symptoms reported by clients in class action cases. One of my mentors and father's hunting buddies (who pointed him in the direction of our adopted hometown in upstate New York) is a U.S. attorney, and in high school my friend and I watched him in action in federal court. On the way home, he told us how insurance companies are always trying to **** people out of their money (no offense to anyone who works in insurance; my first ever hitchhiking ride in North Carolina was with a well-traveled and well-read insurance salesman, and we talked about classic literature and Tom Robbins the whole time). I painted that same attorney's house to earn money to go to India, and then I painted the house across the street, which was owned by a retired elevator worker from NYC. He'd once done repairs on the World Trade Center. I remember him telling me that during a break. Since this case involved an elevator, I figured that was relevant. Then there was growing up with many visits to hospital waiting rooms and my sister having all sorts of back problems, so I figured that would make me biased when hearing about the plaintiff's pains. I also remember going to the emergency room 30 minutes away in Bennington, Vermont, the night I got punched in the head twice outside the only bar in my thousand-human hometown, because someone had told me that if there were any damage to my brain and I would want to hold the drunken assailant financially accountable, I would have to visit the hospital that very night. And while emergency room waiting, I heard so many moans and groans from old people in unimaginable pain that I seriously thanked the universe for giving me the life it has and am seriously counting my blessings of my general moment to moment existence this very second. So I think I'd be a little partial toward those who are physically suffering. On top of all of that, there were two defendants in the case, and one involved a union. So if none of that other stuff worked and they really wanted me on the jury for some inexplicable reason, I was prepared to tell them what a fan I was of Woody Guthrie, which is true. Bob Dylan is my original hero, but it's always good to learn about your hero's heroes.
About a year ago I found one of those streaming sites and created a playlist for driving when I'm visiting my hometown, driving anywhere in nature, playing cards with friends or savoring a very well-deserved beer like I am right now.
Guthrie's "Hard Travelin'" is one of the best on the list. It's basically about getting your butt kicked while doing manual labor for very little compensation. In order to further demonstrate my sympathy for those who sacrifice their bodies to get by in life, I was also prepared to recite the lyrics to "Easy Wind" by The Grateful Dead, "Cumberland Blues" by the same, "Maggie's Farm" by Bob Dylan, "Whipping Post" by The Allman Brothers Band, "Highwayman" by The Highwaymen, "Fish and Whistle" by John Prine, "Wanted Man" by Johnny Cash, "John Henry's Blues" by Tangle Eye, "Salt of the Earth" by the Rolling Stones (and covered by Mavis Staples, whom I saw sing "The Weight" with The Decemberists while blissed at the "circus") and "Railroad" performed by Bela Fleck with Abigail Washburn on vocals. I've only had a few manual labor jobs in my life (not counting unpaid labor for my dad my entire life), and I've generally found that many owners don't care so much about their workers' health, safety, or compensation (with the exception of the Christmas Tree farm and the organic vegetable farm). Working wine harvest in Sonoma was infinitely more difficult (and satisfying) than arranging signature pages, editing documents and preparing closing binders in midtown Manhattan, and paid about half the wages without any benefits.
Of course, none of that mattered the first day, because they picked their six jurors, and then needed four alternates. Two of the three lawyers had interviewed the first five people remaining, and the third was about to go. I was waiting on deck if they didn't like anything about any of those five. Then 4 pm came around, and they told us to go home and come back the next day. So I called work, they got some subs again, and I got to sleep another hour.
On Wednesday I went back, and it took about forty-five minutes. They excused all five of the jurors we'd been waiting on, so we were called up for questioning. I'd checked on the questionnaire that I did in fact want to discuss something with them in private. I thought it strange that nobody else had done that the day before, and they'd wasted many minutes on each person before they unearthed information that would disqualify them. It seemed that despite the cliche that most Americans want to get out of jury duty, the majority in the room seemed at least determined to state for the record that they thought they could be impartial. What's so great about always being impartial?
Another question that might have disqualified me was if I've ever been the victim of or witness to a crime. When I saw that white-haired Santa Claus doppelganger/bouncer outside the Bog getting his face kicked in and cowering beneath a truck bed, I wasn't impartial, and that's why I also got attacked. Yes, they need an impartial jury. That's obviously the way to go. I just don't see any virtue in trying to convince people you're impartial when, scientifically, I find that to be very unlikely, especially when chatting with other prospective jurors. We're all biased on account of our experiences.
Well, when they read my questionnaire, they took me into the hallway immediately. They'd done that eventually with a few others at some point during their questioning, but I was the first that they didn't waste any questions on. I suppose that isn't that surprising, given that I'd checked every single box when they'd asked if I was or was close to anyone who was in the legal, medical, insurance, criminal justice or county service professions. I was mentored by, worked with, and am friends with many lawyers, am friends with a few doctors, have a friend in insurance, my grandfather was a state trooper and my mother was a county social worker. I'd also written in the "Hobbies" section (definitely not in order of importance, but instead with respect to being salutary): "Politics, discussing the law with my defense attorney friends, writing, reading, hiking, traveling."
Once in the hallway, I simply told them it was financially impossible for me to miss two weeks of work, especially right before taxes are due. They immediately excused me and gave me my jury card back, and I was outta there. I think it was the youngest one, with a beard. The other defense attorney also had a beard. That was my final backup plan, if the other ones hadn't worked. I'd had a feeling they weren't going to pick me anyway, as I had been wearing a "Beatles" shirt underneath my unbuttoned dress shirt the first day, and they'd smiled at me in the hallway. On Wednesday I came back with my tie-dyed Bonnaroo shirt on underneath an unbuttoned dress shirt, and I think they got the idea. Speaking of which, I got that idea from another teacher who had told me he'd worn a "Free Pussy Riot" t-shirt when he'd gone, and that had gotten him excused immediately. The best part was that I had a free day after that.
The thing that stuck in my mind later though was when the personal injury attorney had said, "Good luck with that," referring to my finances. The irony was that I'd almost become a lawyer. On top of that, several of my friends and respected elders are lawyers, and I think they do great work to help society. They like their jobs and make good livings. I could have been asking the questions. One of the lawyers appeared to be in his 30's.
As I said, I was wearing my Bonnaroo shirt, which I got in Manchester, Tennessee in 2007. When I drove down to that festival 11 years ago, I got a call offering me a job at a publishing company. When I got back, I gave my two weeks notice at the law firm, and I haven't considered that as a profession ever since. Recently I've gotten an earful about what it's like from my one of my best friends, but I haven't joined him in participating. I just tend to think, "Good luck with that."
Well, I got out of jury duty, thanks to having little money, but at the literal cost of having money. It would have only been more ironic if they'd chosen me, forced me to serve, and made me homeless by depriving me of two weeks' wages at a time when my finances are actually better than they've been in years. Perhaps I was steering away from the path my father had envisioned. He always used to joke that I would grow up to be a "homeless lawyer."
In any case, I went back to work this morning, and although I truly appreciated it before (especially when compared to crushing grapes 11 hours a day) I realized not only how enjoyable my job is, but how miraculous. Out of everything I've seen on this Earth, I get to wake up in a tiny room in Harlem, Manhattan, New York, New York, United States of America/go Vespucci, Earth, Milky Way, Universe, get on a fast moving platform, listen to any music I desire, read whatever I want, look at all sorts of beautiful people, go above ground in Times Square (with either heroes or lingerie models greeting me, and always "Aladdin" on Broadway, and sometimes "The Lion King"), walk a few crowded blocks through the fashionistas and sometimes running into a friend of my civil engineer college roommate who once let me play for their basketball team, go to a building, ride the elevator to the 11th floor, sit in a room with people from around the world, educate them at the highest level with respect to the language of communication I was reared upon and which defines my reality, and then go enjoy all the treasures of modern existence.
Today we were practicing speaking for the TOEFL test, and there was a different interesting topic every three minutes. My job isn't perfect, and it isn't for life, and I'm still jealous of many people I know who seem to be impacting the world at a higher level. Also, I admit that at my age, earning much more money makes lots of sense, and I've learned from others that I can do it while still enjoying my life and without selling my soul. I'm working that out now. But as I think of the years that intervened between '07-'18, I'm so thankful I bought (and continue enjoying) a ticket to the show and followed my bliss, whichever way the universe leads me every day
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