Every time I vote, I get a nasty letter from the federal courthouse that’s two hundred miles away from my home. (My name must be on the top of their rolodex, which is odd since my name neither begins with an A nor with a Z.)
They threaten me with fines and prosecution if I fail to show up. (Even before I arrive, I’m already anti-establishment, which is good news for the defendant.)
They always send me a questionnaire with extremely personal question: What books do I read, how many times do I poop per day, what are my religious and sexual preferences. (Since I can’t write ‘None-Ya’ in the essay answers, I write things that are still quite creative. But no matter what I write or how stupid I sound, they still want me. Duh-huh. Aren’t they violating my rights in some way? )
Getting called for Federal jury duty sounds exciting, but really isn’t. Ninety percent of my time is spent sitting in a chair and watching lawyers shuffle papers back and forth. Real lawyers should take a lesson from T.V. lawyers, who get right down to business with stunning revelations. (I just want to stand up and say, “Hey, I’m going for a pee break. When you guys get your shit together, text me.”)
I don’t understand why they pull juries from the voting citizens, when they could pull them from the tax roll or the county property owners? They’d get a bigger pool, a better cross-section and they’d be less likely to pick on the same person over and over. (Oh, yeah! That’s probably too logical for the government.)
I don’t think I’d mind jury duty so much if the trial was close to home and involved a nice, juicy murder or a psychopathic killer, but I always get stuck with a complicated, white-collar case involving a run-of-the-mill embezzler. (Yawn.)
Here’s a Fact. Face it: A lot more people would vote if it wasn’t tied to jury duty. This antiquated custom makes as much sense as the Electoral College.