****************

So, after I realize my ass is wanted in court, I slam down the phone and dial my boss. “I’ve got to report to jury duty!” I shriek.

He’s like…So? (I hate it when I'm all riled and other people act all blase')

And I'm like: “I left my juror badge and paperwork at the office, which means I’ll have to come there before I go to the courthouse, and I’m already running late and……”

“So I’ll get your paperwork and leave it with the guard, so you won’t have to come in.”

“Yes! Okay!” I yell, while falling out of bed, fumbling around for my glasses so I can walk to the bathroom and put in my damn contacts. (yes, I’m that freaking blind) Ended up putting my left one in my right eye. I know 'cause my visions all drunk looking. Shit shit shit.

It's 7:50. I'm runnin' around like a mad woman. Shower. Do a half-ass lotioning job. Brush teeffs. Throw on …something. Cute but non-restrictive Seven jeans, belt, tank, blazer. Earrings. (I think) Apologize to Pooch for skipping out on morning quality time. Jet out the house. Jam up to the C.S.S. Retrieve paperwork waiting for me at security desk. Get back on the road. Breaking all kinds of traffic laws. Cellie rings. It’s one of the Supa Friends.

“What up Sup’. We still doin’ lunch today?”

“I’m late for fucking jury duty!” I yell.

Dude in a car next to me (an entire lane over) whips his head around, looks at me through his window like I’m absolutely insane. (we're stopped at a red light) Note to self: Gettin' kinda loud. Okay, inhale, exhale...(right, DPM?) “Oh my gosh, where’s the fucking courthouse?!?!” I scream. (yes, people who live in LA can still get lost in certain parts of LA..) It’s 8:20 am. They’re gonna lock my ass up, I just know it. Did I ever pay those warrants? Shit. Shit fuck shit.

“So?" *blase' tone* "Just pull up the address on your navigation system.” Supa's friend advises.

“You KNOW I don’t have a fucking NAVIGATION SYSTEM!!!”

“Damn, fool! You got a promotion, why you ‘aint bought your Beemer yet?”

CLICK.

I hang up. Turn off cellie. I do not have time for this shit.…

Get to the courthouse. Finally find a parking space on the ROOF. Clomp down stairs. Get inside. Walk toward the line of folks waiting to go through the metal detectors. I’m feeling (and probably looking) haggard at this point, ‘cause I was totally robbed of my primp time this morning. I’m looking average fly - got on lipgloss, but that’s about it. Did I put on deodorant? FUCK.

So. I’m walking fast, trying to keep up with the rest of the jury herd, and the security guard dude is barking: HURRY UP PEOPLE, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON TIME. JUDGES WAITING, COURT'S WAITING, KEEP IT MOVING, HURRY UP HURRY UP. NO WEAPONS, NO CELL PHONES. KEEP IT MOVING KEEP IT MOVING….

Oh shit! I’ve got mace in my purse... So I go, “ummm, excuse me..”

“HURRY UP, NO WEAPONS, NO RINGING CELL PHONES, KEEP IT MOVING…”

“..uhh, I’ve got umm, a small container of umm, mace in my purse…”

“SECURITY BREACH! THIS WOMAN HAS CONTRABAND! MISS? MISS. NO WEAPONS OF ANY KIND ALLOWED IN THE COURTHOUSE. MISS, PLEASE STEP TO THE SIDE…KEEP IT MOVING, PEOPLE..”

Fffuuuucccccckkkkk fuckk fuckity fuck fuuuck!!!!!! Please tell my why he had to put me on blast like that. Please?

So, since I’m already LATE, I try to talk to dude. You know, sprinkle some magic dust….

“Um, Mr. Security guard? Is there anyway we can work around this? Can I check it in, or leave it with you (smile smile), ‘cause I’m already really late..? I mean, I don’t even know if there’s really any mace left in here…(smiling, pouting, looking pitiful)

He ‘aint trying to hear me.

“MISS? MISS. THERE ARE NO WEAPONS ALLOWED IN THE BUILDING. I CANNOT HOLD ANY CONTRABAND OR WEAPONS FOR PROSPECTIVE JURORS. MISS? MISS. I’LL HAVE TO ASK YOU TO LEAVE THE BUILDING, STEP ASIDE, MISS.”

Bitch, please. I wanted to tell him that a weapon was more like that loaded .22 I have at home in my top drawer. The mace is for AFTER you cap a muthafucka. You know. For good measure.

Anyway. Security dude yells:

“GO BACK TO YOUR CAR, AND LEAVE IT THERE, MISS. I CAN’T LET YOU INTO THE BUILDING, MISS.”

“All the way back to my CAR? I just walked down eight flights of stairs!” Plus, I had on my wedgie heels. This mofo GOTS to be crazy.

So I just stare at him. Then he goes, “MISS? MISS….”

“OKAY!” I turn around in a huff. Go BACK out the courthouse, clomp BACK up the stairs and to my car. Was gonna throw the can of mace in the bushes or a trash can or something. But – decided against it. I live in South Central. A sista be needin’ her mace.

So. Back outside, back up the stairs, back down the stairs. I’m supa salty. (I’m lugging laptop, purse, bottled water, scarf, jacket, mind you, in HEELS) Walk back into the courthouse, go through the metal detectors. Once I pass through, security guard dude leans over and mentions he could’ve checked it in for me, but there were too many people waiting to be processed…

Oh. Thank you for blessing me with that lovely piece of info, you loud bastard. Get away from me.

Into the elevator, mob to the jury assembly room. It’s 8:50 am. Stomp loudly into a room full of people watching that stupid juror orientation video. Whooo hooo, glad I missed that bullshit! Some county employee chick comes out, give us our instructions, blabbity blah blah blah. We’re fucking captives for the next few days. Yeah. We get it….

Sit down, fire off first jury duty blog. Walk to vending machine, purchase expired dry ass pack of trail mix. Then, my name is called to report to courtroom. Fuuuuucccckkkkkk. A sista can't get NO rest. ..

Report to courtroom with other schmuck jurors. Wait outside courtroom; size up other jurors. The most diverse, unstable, high-strung, homeless, shifty looking group of folks I’ve seen gathered in one area in quite awhile. Straight motley crew. Dude next to me is staring, I mean like, all up in my grill. White boy. I meet his glance, give him a wry smile.

“I didn’t know celebrities had to come to jury duty,” he smiles.

Hunh?

“Excuse me?” I go.

“Aren’t you like, married to Will Smith?”

*complete gas face*


Day two, to be continued……