Like I do with most things I feel I don’t deserve to have to deal with, I blew off jury duty in my mind when I found the summons in my mailbox.  I had already postponed once, so I couldn’t completely avoid this annoying piece of paper, but I felt sure that I would be in court for a few hours and then free of the dreaded New York experience.  At the most, I figured, I’d be there a couple of days, gain a topic to blog about, and be done.

Instead: you’re now reading the words of the Assistant Foreman of the grand jury of New York Supreme Court’s special narcotics division.  Is that even legal to disclose? Hmmm…let me check for the answer..oh, here it is:  I DON’T GIVE ONE TINY RAT’S ASS.

I’ve never been good at cards, gambling, or anything that requires luck, really.  So I’m not sure why, when they called my name, I thought that was a good thing.  A few minutes later, I was assured that it wasn’t as they informed the twenty-three of us that we would be serving for the next two weeks.  And no, I was told, it did not matter what impact this had on our work situations.  After all, they’re paying us the grand sum of $40 a day!  Do you know how much $40 will buy you in New York? Well, it’s going to need to buy me a bottle of wine because this day is not sitting well.

What maybe infuriates me the most is this: because some jerk broke the law (ALLEGEDLY), I’m going to lose several days’ pay and have to change my entire schedule.  I’m going to have to interact with people I don’t know.  I’m going to have to be…inconvenienced. And I am so not in the point of my journey that involves me handling that with grace.  As my attitude today proved.

My cell phone became a complaint conveyor to anyone who would listen (and it’s always the usual suspects, whose patience reminds me that they are better people than I am).  I asked God why a lot.  I tried to embrace it, really I did. Not very hard though.  I embraced negativity more.  It just seems to stay in my arms so much more readily!  I stomped and pouted and did all the other things that I used to when I was a baby and ever since, every time I haven’t gotten my way.  Then I read, during breaks, The Help and was reminded once again of my Southern heritage of prejudice.  About how rough the 60’s (19th AND 20th century versions) were for those people.  About how rough “Good” Friday was for one man in particular.  About how the best of us (surely not me, so far) can reject what we feel is unjust without clinging to a sense of entitlement.  Without being a total pill.  While accepting a greater justice that promises to prevail, even if it’s not in time to get me out of jury duty.

At the end of the day, I was assigned my seat in front.  The assistant foreman’s seat. The man next to me, a black guy named B., was smiling and holding out his hand for me to shake it.  I wasn’t any happier to be there than I had been all day, but I was humbled.  Some people are already full of grace; others (ahem, assistant foremen for example) are still being loved into it.