Jury Duty, My Nemesis

Since it’s been 18 months and zero days since my last jury duty, the flimsy white postcard arrived in the mail as scheduled announcing my day(s) off from homeschooling! Yay!

It’s that weird season between Thanksgiving and Christmas when most homeschool mamas are torn between math and cocoa with whipped cream. Grammar and Elf. History and fuzzy socks and a snuggly blanket and a good Christmas storybook. Turning on the heater or playing wii Dance 2 for P.E.

Needless to say, I wasn’t super disappointed to be leaving my children unattended for a day or three. (This will be our little secret, k?) My remaining offspring are 13 and 18 and fully self-reliant… with eating and staying alive. Not so resilient with doing school work unsupervised, but hey, it’s December. (Well in three days it’s December, but close enough to already have Christmas cheer!) And lying cozy and warm in your bed reading a fantastic book for hours IS school! Yep!

The day started off with a BANG! From the short walk from the shuttle bus to the front of the court house, I crossed paths with a very angry black woman who spewed, “White supremacists!” to me and my fellow non-assuming, white, middle-aged, minding-our-own-business jurors. Her words literally shocked me. My mouth dropped open. Turning to the lady walking right behind me I shared, “I have never been called that before!” She hadn’t either. Wow! I felt sorry for the name-calling woman. To harbor that much anger must make life horrible! I thought of singing Christmas carols to bring up the Christmas cheer but she walked off too rapidly for my first tune to commence. Joy to the World would have been top of my chart.

Being a returning expert to jury duty, I arrived on time. Signed in and got my sticker badge. Most of my morning was spent reading two months of text messages and trying to figure out who was the other texter. I lost all my contacts on my phone except those who left text messages… but they were nameless numbers. For two hours I READ texts from September 26 to November 28 and tried to remember who I had that conversation with followed by typing in every blinking name. When would I have had time to do that if not for jury duty? Thank you, Madison Court House!

Finally I sat working at a desk until my name was announced. Dang it. I have heard rumors of people getting the notice and sitting in the waiting area ALL DAY. Think of it! ALL DAY pretty much alone to read or look up papier mache Christmas ornaments on Pinterest or make grocery lists or doodle or nap or knit. Sugary bliss! But no.

My juror number this time, out of 40, was 2. Not good. The chances of numbers 30-40 getting selected, in my vast experience, are slim to none. But I was hopeful of being dismissed just by my explanation of what my husband does for work. The trial involved police, so I was sure to mention that Rick flies for Department of Public Safety… the governor, SWAT teams, prisoner transfers and photography… and has for worked for the State of AZ for 17 years. (So the 17 years didn’t always include DPS but I could have clarified if needed.)

This is not my first jury rodeo! (It’s my second.) So I had a much firmer grasp on my emotions as fellow jurors gave feeble attempts at being excused. There was no rolling of my eyes. There were no bursts of laughter like last time. I didn’t even snicker when an elderly gentleman raised his hand and urgently told the judge, “I have to go to the bathroom so bad I can’t think straight!”

The process of jury selection was much quicker this time around and there weren’t sob stories of abuse that we had to endure, thankfully. We returned from lunch and nine jurors were selected just like that. No questioning of any of us from the attorneys. Two minutes after lunch, the rest of us received our Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card. BAM! Civic service done! Bring on the eggnog!

December 2016 I will look for my $23 fuel reimbursement check in the mailbox!

May 2018 I will look for the little, flimsy white postcard in the mailbox announcing my next half day off!  Whoo Hoooo!

Only at MY House!

Yesterday, one of the items that topped my To-Do list was to phone our health insurance company and figure out if my husband could get a physical and medical update for our adoption BEFORE September 16th.  Last year he had one on September 16th and his doctor was going to slap on an extra $200 charge because the dates weren’t a year apart. 

Here is a brief sidenote on Rick’s doctor:  I used to go to this same doctor.  I liked him alright, but he seemed to be a bit heavy-handed with his prescription pad.  I would return home from his office and call a friend of mine in pharmaceuticals and ask which of the four scripts I truly needed.  Anyway, I don’t have to do that anymore because I coincidentally happened upon aforementioned doctor at a local resort.  Brace yourself.  He was donning a purple Speedo, sunglasses from the 80’s and had the solid white sunblock on his nose.  It did me in.  I could no longer use ‘Purple Speedo’ as my physician.

Back to yesterday.  I did not have my glasses within reach when trying unsuccessfully to read the phone number on my health care card.  I handed it to my daughter and asked her to read me the number.  She started reading, “9-1-1-8-4-5-3-8-5-3-2-0-0”, and I obediently dialed…. until I realized there were too many numbers and hung up. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “that is your group number.”  I retrieved the card and found the PHONE number myself and dialed correctly.  The phone call lasted about ten minutes, but at minute number nine, there was a knock on our front door. 

Another side note:  my two nephews were over at our house along with my three children…. and I was still in my pajamas with decidedly Ace Ventura bed-head hair going on.  Not exactly the get-up to be answering the door.

Back to our story.  I peaked through the eye hole and saw a police man standing on our front porch.  I remembered my hair and attire and made a dash for the back of the house.  All five kids met me there, with the phone still stuck to my ear, and I told my 16-year-old daughter (yes, the one who read the group number to me) to go answer the door while  I hid in the laundry room.

Mr. Police officer asked the five children staring at him if everything was OK at the house.  “Yes!”  they all answered in unison.  Mr. Police man continued, “Someone dialed 911 from this house and hung up.  We were unable to call back so we came to make sure everything is alright.”  I’m sure he got responses that included but was not limited to: “Sure!”  “Yeah, that was mom calling her insurance group number.”  “She’s in the laundry room in her pj’s.”  “She couldn’t answer the door because her hair is scary.”  “She’s been on the phone all morning.”  “We are waiting for her to make breakfast.”  “We’re all OK!” “We’re hungry.”  “Is that a real gun?”  And the nice police officer left the premises, wondering what in the world just happened.

I tell you that story to report that I’m impressed with the police service in our area!  In less than ten minutes from the 911 call, there was someone at my door to protect me and my children.  Or is it protect my children from me?  Anyway, thank you, Phoenix Police force!

Police Surveillance

For those of you not in the Phoenix, AZ region, you are most likely not aware of our hard-core Sheriff Joe Arpaio.  He is bad to the bone… which means he is doing his job, but for those who are sympathizers with illegal aliens he’s downright nasty. 

I have personally enjoyed learning of the creativity of our law man.  He built Tent City, which houses inmates in tents because the prisons are overflowing… in the desert in Phoenix… all year long.  When the inmates complained of 110* temperatures, they were given extra water, fans and were told that the USA soldiers in Iraq were living in tents where it was over 120* and they hadn’t committed any crimes!  HAHAHAHHA… am I the only one that found that humorous?  And he has a PINK Vacancy sign!  :oD

THEN, the prize decision… he had all the inmates underwear died pink, so they wouldn’t be smuggled out of the prison.  Apparently this had been an issue?????  It created such a fan base, that he is now selling pink Arpaio boxers as a fund raiser.  I love a man who laughs at danger.  He limits movies to only G rated flicks.  (You get to watch movies in jail???)  He cut smokes, coffee and work out equipment.  It ain’t no picnic in the pink desert.

This week his posse (that’s really what they’re called!) conducted a sting sweep on a candle manufacturer here in the area.  There is much controversy over the covert operation because some fellow “legals” were held at the crime scene while 40 or 50 people were legally apprehended.  They were texting their lawyers, who weren’t allowed access to the crime scene… OK, I’ve watched enough Ironside reruns to know that you can’t enter a crime scene just because you’re a lawyer. Duh!

Anyway, last night the police surveillance came a little too close to home.  We woke up this morning and realized that the police had been watching us all night long… in our bedroom… without a search warrant.  I have never felt so violated and exposed in all my life.  We’re considering calling Sheriff Joe.  Here’s our proof:

If you have not witnessed police in their sneaky hiding places, you may not even notice the officer of the law.  Here’s a zoom in for you:

WHAT NEXT?  Tapping our phones?