Jessica Alfieri

writes everything you see here.

• Coercion Makes Me Angry

  Jul 1, 2009 tagged as jury duty

  We’re sitting in the jury waiting room, a little collectively buzzed but quiet after the news that we may just get to leave here, duty complete, at 1:00. So we’re all sitting here thinking hoping praying to the jury gods to get out of this unscathed. And since we’re in school mode (attendance taken, instructions followed, at the mercy of authority figures) the room is quiet. As if the judges won’t remember they need jurors if we stay very still.

  And then the man in the crisp white hat still sporting a virgin brim prances in on shiny white sneakers, bouncing visibly, arms swaying just so without wanting to appear to be dancing, moving awkwardly to the fluttering beat of that music they blast from the cars after the Puerto Rican day parade.

  Music playing loud enough to hear through his headphones from across the room. Almost as loud as that shirt he wants us to look at.

  I’ve been racking up quite a few Louis CK style “now I have to know you exist?” moments lately. He’s number three.

  Number two was the slimy rock-headed snakeoil salesman of a defense lawyer from yesterday. Leading non-questions and general assholery and fluff on top of pea brainedness, all well-deserving of a slap in the face.

  Number one was the nebbish jerk with his pleated pants and his mommy-ironed dress shirt who coughed in my face during dinner (a tasting menu during which we matched our neighbors’ schedule) on Saturday. Yes, the air from his mouth and all its disgusting, tiny particulate flew through the air and collided with my eye, cheek, and mouth. And then he continued to cough in my direction without apology. He still takes the prize.

  And a new contender is entering the ring as I type. Shut up, faceless yelling woman in the other room.