40 Gals, 1 Pot

Today begins the first in a series of JURY DUTY posts by Val Thevictorian!

I know. You're salivating. Chomping at the bit. Pounding the bottom of a ketchup bottle as Antici--paa--aaa---tion plays in the background. Calm down. We must start slowly. You're not even warmed up yet.

Let the record show that Val arrived at the county courthouse at 8:10 a.m. That's inside. In line to get her badge. We were supposed to be there by 8:30. Overachiever that she is, Val dropped off The Pony a few minutes early at school, then turned T-Hoe in the direction of bill-paying town and the courthouse. To get a good parking space, you know.

There are several one-way streets around the courthouse. Two, to be exact. So I made a big square U to see where I should stable my trusty T-Hoe while I was doing my civic duty. WHAT? The whole side of the courthouse was empty of automobiles! It had to be a trick. Usually, there are cones and signs marking those spaces for judges or officials of some kind. So I thought it was a trick, and went on by, and turned left.

The next street had all spaces clear on my right, beside the bank. Having just watched Parking Wars before leaving the house, I looked for signs about non-bank customers being towed. None. It looked as if those spaces were up for grabs. But I continued. Must be a trick.

Another left, and that one-way street had parking all along the side of the courthouse as well. Hm. By the time it registered that I could just park there, I was past that block. Okay. So I would just park past the liquor store like I did years ago when I had the jury duty. Even though now there is a big annex across the street with a big parking lot. I was fine. Way up at the end of the block.

I walked down that block, past the liquor store, which was disturbingly open at 8:00 a.m., across the street, and up the courthouse steps. Oh. No I didn't. They were roped off with a plastic chain. So I backtracked to the other set of steps, and took the handicap ramp. Four times as far, but no strain on the knees.

Inside, I got in line for my badge. I WAS NUMBER...wait. I shouldn't really give away identifying facts. Lets just say there were seventy people ahead of me. Let the record show that the one and only time I got picked to sit in on a case I was number eighty-four. So I wasn't thrilled. Even though I should have been.

I asked if there were bathrooms on the 3rd floor. The lady motioned with her head a simultaneous NO and a direction where the ladies room was located. I made sure to go before I went upstairs. As luck or stupidity would have it, I could not find the elevator. Even though I remembered taking it the last time. So I had to trudge up a double flight of stairs to get to the 2nd floor. But THERE WAS THE ELEVATOR. Hello, old friend. Let's go for a ride.

Once in the courtroom, a bailiff told me to sit on the front row. THE FRONT ROW! More on that another time. Speaking of time, at 8:29, my school crony showed up. And she had a number highter than mine! Even though they were randomly assigned and laid out when we arrived. Time ticked away. The bailiff kept announcing that if we needed to use the restroom, we should do it NOW. Because once we started, it could be hours before we could get up.

I swear that room full of old ladies is not responsible for keeping those overactive bladder drug companies in business. We didn't start until 9:50, and some of them had gone THREE times by then. Which was difficult, since the only women's room in that old courthouse was back in chambers, at the end of the hall, and was a one-seater. That's what the bailiff called it. When he got all excited and ran back there and told the waiters to wait in the courtroom, in a line, and not in the chamber hall.

I don't know what you call the toilet in your house. We could never say the word toilet in mine. My mom always called it "The Stool." Some might call it the throne, the john, the water closet, the potty. But my pupils at school often call it the pot. As in, "He's on the pot." Really too much information when I ask if a kid might have gone home early, or was held by a teacher after class.

Yeah. I guess we're lucky we had indoor plumbing and not an outhouse. Or a Port-A-Potty. Still, it's kind of barbaric to expect 40 old women to use ONE toilet (some of them more that their share of times) while waiting for court to start after taking one's blood pressure meds.