The Saturday Whine

I got a jury duty summons. Right. You go, do your one day stint, come home for dinner. And it's not like I don't want to do it. I am one of those crazy Pollyannas who think it is actually my civic duty to make sure people get a fair trial with a jury of their peers. A cornerstone of democracy. Silly stuff like that.

But it isn't an ordinary jury summons. It's a federal jury summons.

The federal court is 65 miles away through some of the hairiest, slowest, most maddening, pull-me-through-a-knothole traffic on earth. Los Angeles Federal Court, building, baby, right in the heart of it, where brave men fear to tread. Or drive. Whatever.

We report at 7:45 a.m.

If I lived 15 miles further, say, up in Mrs. Kennedy's neighborhood, the court would reimbursement $100 per night for a hotel. But since I am a mere 65 miles - about 3 hours in morning traffic, depending - away, I get NOTHING.

Thank you very much.

The best part? I am on call for 30 days. During a period that coincides exactly with my manager's husband undergoing a dangerous and difficult medical procedure that requires her absence. Did I mention I am #2 in charge? And that there are only 5 of us?

(banging head on table)

I am going to beg for a postponement at the very least so I don't give my manager a heart attack in addition to her husband's medical problems. And maybe move in with Mrs K for a while, so I can get the hotel reimbursement. Somebody warn her for me, willya?