People are the worst. WORST! I think that sometimes, all they were put on this earth to do was annoy me and make my life crazier than it already is. And trust me, my life is basically out of control, the last thing I need is people around messing it up even more.
(I'm sick of you little girl and boy groups, all you do is annoy me so I have been sent here to destroy you)
A woman I work with, who is NOT my boss, is giving me a hard time about having been picked for jury duty. She wants to know why I didn't get out of it. Ohhhhh, get out of it you say? Why that is a novel idea. If only I'd thought of that yesterday. See, I found the prospect of getting hopelessly behind on all of my work while debating upwards of 800 cases with a jury of my "peers" (which is in quotes because us all being "peers" is also still up for debate) over the next 24 days to be absolutely riveting. Getting oooooout of it never even occurred to me. But the really great thing about the grand jury is that we only meet for half a day. This means that I still get to go to work for half a day. Now, I don't have to miss out on what it's like to go to work every day AND be on jury duty ever day. Best. Of. Both. Worlds. !!!!!
After the painfully boring process of grand jury selection yesterday, I realized that a loooot of caffeine is going to be needed to fuel my next few weeks. Today, I got down to Chinatown with about 30 minutes to spare since I was still unsure of how long it would take me to commute from my office to the courthouse. I decided to relax with a nice cup of coffee and talk to my mom on the phone to enjoy my afternoon a little and kill some time. However, they don't serve coffee in Chinatown. It's like there's a goddamn Starbucks every 27 1/2 feet in this city and then when you need one, it's nowhere to be found. I walked for almost ten minutes before finding a Chinese bakery where, I assumed, there would be coffee. I was wrong. Chinatown serves a rainbow variety of teas, but coffee is certainly NOT on the menu. Finally, after trekking three more blocks, I spotted one two blocks up and across the street on the far corner. It felt like a mirage, but I ran toward it anyway.
Once inside, I stood in line and waited my turn like everyone else. As I approached the register however, a woman jumped in front of me. I was not in the mood to be nice and just let her go ahead (as she obviously didn't spot the GIANT sign that read "Enter Here" and all of the people corralled in the ropes), so I kinda-sorta elbowed her out of my way while mumbling "aw heeeeyll noo" in my head. It immediately became apparent that she was a crazy homeless person who jumped in line to ask me for money. "You got a dollar? Can I have a dollar?" she asked me. I ignored her and ordered my coffee while the guy behind the counter a) stared at her like she was nuts, b) offered me exactly zero help, and c) finally went to get my coffee. In his absence, another girl came over, told me it'd be $1.90, and I handed over a $10 bill. While the cashier got my change, the homeless woman was doing her best to penetrate my personal space as much as humanly possible. At one point, I thought she was going to get inside of my jacket with me. The girl behind the counter slowly and carefully handed me my change, first my coins and then my bills, so I could put one away before the other (as opposed to dumping them all in my hand at the same time like they normally do). All the while she warily eyed the crazy lady to make sure she didn't reach in and grab anything from me. The homeless woman, while off her fucking rocker, was still able to pick up on this subtle social cue. "It's ok," she said, "she's giving that to me," and motioned to the $8 in my hand. "Yeah, that's not our deal actually," I replied. "Oh," she said. Then, "you got a dollar?" I shook my head no and went to add milk to my cup.
While I struggled with the Non-Fat Milk container (what is with those pitchers??), another 'bucks employee came over to usher the crazy woman outside. "I got a knife! I'm not leaving!" she started yelling. Ah, great. There's about to be a stabbing in the Chinatown Starbucks. All I could think was now I'll have to go to court AGAIN to testify to being a terrible human being who didn't give a homeless person a single dollar bill and then caused a riot when they tried to kick her back out onto the eleven degree sidewalk. In my defense, I donate money to many worthwhile and well-known charities and donate time to several other local organizations. I do not, however, make a habit of giving to crazy homeless people because in New York, if you start doing that, you'll never stop. You will literally run out of money and have to start giving them the clothes off of your back. It is painfully sad, but very true. Anyway, after a moment, the homeless woman (or maybe just crazy, I have no idea as to her living situation, I shouldn't stereotype) confessed to kidding around about the knife (what a comedian!) and I ran out the side door.
Safely at jury duty, I was seated in the front row of the room next to a singular empty seat while we waited for our last juror to arrive and begin the day's festivities. Of course, the late-comer is a middle-aged gentleman who smells terrible and is The Sickest Man In The Universe (verse...verse...rse...[echo]). He grabs the chair next to mine. While he's coughing up phlegm and choking on his own chest congestion, the warden assigned to our group comes around and assigns our seats, telling us to get comfortable because this is where we'll be sitting for the next month. Oh. Great. I spent the next three hours leaning as far away from him as I was able while mouthing "OHMYGOD" to no one in particular. I was practically in the lap of the guy next to me. TSMITU spent those same three hours leaning as close to meee as possible while he fought of some mutant strain of pneumonia. I mean, he didn't want to cough on the woman to his left, he told me. Tomorrow, I'm bringing an arsenal of Mucinex, cough drops, and Advil Cold & Sinus and telling him to pick his poison or this is going to be a loooong month.
The best part of this all though is that the windows to the room are sealed shut and there's another building about six feet away. I felt totally suffocated (remember yesterday when I said I have breathing issues/OCD?) and passed the time while the Assistant District Attorney was outlining our duty as jurors trying to breathe as slowly and shallowly as I could, while mentally willing my heartbeat to slow down as well, thus limiting my oxygen intake in this toxic environment. I think yogis can do it, why can't I?
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