I got called for jury duty a couple of years ago. I'd never been in a courtroom before, so I was looking forward to fulfilling my civic duty, and, from a future blogger's perspective, reporting from within the belly of the beast, as it were.
The hell I was. As I whined to my cousin's husband, a senior police officer:
"I've looked at the summons back and forth and there's no exemption that fits me."
"Which would be?"
"I don't wannaaaaaa!"
There were some other considerations. There was a big trial coming up, of a Vietnamese drug gang.
These wily Oriental gentlemen were quixotic and psychotic enough to go down with all guns blazing when the SWAT team had the drop on them.
No doubt they were also unfamiliar with the quaint Western tradition that jurors are not to be whacked.
There was talk of building an entirely new, very secure courthouse, or of holding the trial at the local military base, with MPs with MGs standing watch. (Eventually, the government completely renovated one of its main courtrooms, at the cost of several million dollars. The trial still hasn't been held -- still tied up on procedural matters and such, which is what happens when you try to conduct a RICO (the U.S. Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organization) prosecution without RICO-friendly legislation.)
Also there was a similar case in British Columbia that had dragged on for two years or so, to the point where the judge directed the government to boost the jurors' per diems to $150 to compensate them for their time.
Two years.
So I with some trepidation showed up at the required place at the required time, with a shine on my shoes and new pants too.
I needn't have bothered. I was one of 200 or so, most of whom looked like scowling extras from The Grapes of Wrath.
After rollcall and the two or three arrest warrants issued for those who didn't say "Yo!" we all enjoyed an interminable video on the glories of the Jury System.
I can say without fear of contradiction that the Solicitor-General of the Province of Alberta, Canada, does not waste taxpayer dollars on paying professional actors. It was like a porn flick without the skin.
Then a couple of men with briefcases marched smartly in. Then they marched smartly out.
One charge plea bargained down, the other pled guilty on some sort of regulatory infraction.
We were stampeding out of there just as the judge was saying ". . . and thank you all for --"
Some of us couldn't wait for the elevator and went pell-mell down the stairs and finally out into the brilliant sunshine.
The wheels of justice do indeed grind exceedingly fine, and slow, oh boy, so very slow.