Sorry to disappoint those of you who, upon reading the title of this post, hoped for a story of yet another a cat being called to jury duty (seems to occur way too frequently don’t you think?). Rather this is about my latest NYC jury duty experience.
Call me crazy but I was excited to receive my red and while juror ballot in the mail a few months back. I viewed my opportunity to serve my civic duty as a sort of paid stay-cation.
You see, the courthouses in New York City are downtown in the financial district, a part of town often frequented by tourists and those who work there but not a major destination for the rest of the islands inhabitants.
Not only would it give me the opportunity to take in the historic architecture, try different restaurants, pop into Century 21, and check out the progress at Ground Zero, but it was also a new venue for scoping out potential dates.
Rummaging around the depths of my purse for my Blackberry (so as to surreptitiously snap man photos for the blog) several cold metal cylindrical objects took me by surprise. I pulled one out.Seems I had reported to jury duty with three of the six cans of Fancy Feast I’d thrown in my purse the night before when making a late-night food run at my local bodega. In an effort to be green, I’d refused a plastic bag.
Sadly the idea of looking for love at jury duty hadn’t crossed my mind until I’d arrived at the courthouse sans make-up, hair pulled into a messy up-do with a modern version of the banana clip, sporting cat hair covered sweatpants (something I am usually fastidious about avoiding!) and a cat-food laden hand bag.
I more closely resembled Liz Lemon in her princess Leia outfit attempting to get out of jury duty than a semi-fashionable professional eligible bachelorette on the prowl.
Thankfully the eligible men I’d scoped out turned out to be married (rings) or seemingly gay and/or European and uninterested. It wasn’t a major missed opportunity.
Seeing the man-quest wasn’t going to work out, I decided to take advantage of being downtown to check-in on Ground Zero. With the 10 year anniversary only months away I wanted to see what progress had been made.
Out of town friends have often asked me what the new tower(s) are going to look like and to be frank I have no clue. The plans seem to have changed so often I don’t recall where they net out.
On my way to the site I happened upon a small 9/11 Memorial Museum with a few objects from that fateful day along with renderings of what the new buildings were to look like.
Standing by a huge pit with one partially completed building it was clear there was much to accomplish in a few short months. I found myself saddened and embarrassed for my city and country.
The Twin Towers had been completed in six years yet after almost ten year neither the tenacious citizens of New York City or the powerful United States of American had succeeded in rebuilding the WTC. Ten year olds who’d lost a parent and were now in college still had no proper memorial to visit in their honor.
My lunch hour was almost up so I head back to the court-house. My stay-cation turned out to be short lived. Dr S., a physician in the case I was called for, was someone my Mom had met and I’d seen once in passing.
She’d found him to be cute and polite and potentially unmarried (no ring) and we’d joked about how we might orchestrate a chance encounter. I guess the lawyer wasn’t comfortable with my knowing of him (I didn’t mention the potential dating part) and I was promptly dismissed.
On an island of over one million people I’d been called to jury duty on the very day this case had gone to trial. Of all the cases being tried I’d been called as a potential juror on this particular one. I had to find a way to meet this Dr S. it must be fate. Perhaps I’d find love at jury duty after all.