I am now 43 years old — middle-aged, in the general scheme of things. I’ve been registered to vote for 25 of those years. I should have been eligible for jury duty for 25 years. Except that I was a full-time student. Then a nursing mom. Then a primary caregiver/homeschooling parent. Thus I’ve managed to get excused the two times I’ve been called to serve (well, actually, breastfeeding was not an excuse, but the ice storm saved me from lugging my breast pump down to that far off land of Decatur).
Now that I live a block form the courthouse and both girls are in school and our travel schedule has been greatly reduced, I’ve actually been hoping for a summons, as crazy as that sounds. I want the chance to get to see how our legal system works.
Be careful what you wish for, right? For over six months now, I haven’t had any travel plans beyond camping in GA, going to the cabin or our winter break trip to Edisto Beach. All easily rearranged or cancelled.
On Friday, I got my first summons in ten years. The date? The day before we leave for Greece. Our first trip abroad in years. Cue the anxiety attack. Given the various incompetencies of our local county government, I was prepared for the absolute worst.
I called the court first thing on Monday morning. Before I even had to launch into the details of out trip and beg, the clerk asked “When will you get back?” “Ok, let’s schedule you for May!”
So pleased that it was so easy to reschedule. Why can’t everything be that easy?
