Civics 101, New Orleans Style

Today was the first time I actually entered the jury pool in Orleans Parish, Louisiana. What an interesting process.

We veniremen must call a recording in the "Jury Pool Administration" office each day to learn whether we are to report the next day. And, in typical NOLA vernacular, the recorded voice told Group #4 to "report to the Jury Pool Lounge [Lounge. Ha!] for 8:30 a.m. on Monday." Not "at" or "by" or "before," but "for 8:30." That's just one of the peculiar colloquialisms you hear in southeast Louisiana -- like "making groceries" or "where y'at."

Unlike 3/4 of today's pool, I arrived in plenty of time. Security at the Civil Courts Building is rather, um, casual. My purse had to go through the x-ray machine, but not the book I was carrying. TSA would have suffered a coronary on the spot! What if I had carved out a gun-shaped hole in the pages to conceal a non-metal pistol, like Dwayne Hickman's preacher character in "Cat Ballou?"

I did manage to avoid the elevator that you must close manually by shoving the doors together (I learned the hard way about that one on the day I reported to answer the jury summons!). And I found the "Lounge" with no problem this time (I learned on my first trip that the rooms aren't numbered sequentially). "Lounge" must be one of the most stretched euphemisms I've ever heard -- holes in the ceiling, theater-style flip-up HARD chairs, and a heat-and-air system that would make a polar bear shiver. I think I'll stick with my original assessment -- the Lounge is "holding cell chic."

Once there, I fell in line to check in with the Jury Pool Administrator's Administrative Assistant, a rather large man with a fairly brusque manner whose job it is to scan the summonses for attendance purposes, to acquire names of those who forgot their summonses, to explain how to detach the perforated juror badge from the summons and place it in one of those clear plastic sleeves with a clip that really only works on men's clothing, and to change the channel with a remote control on the television mounted above his desk from the local CBS affiliate's morning show to CNN and back to the CBS affiliate for the noon show. We didn't meet the Jury Pool Administrator (picture Carlton from "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air") until all the late arrivals trickled in, about 9:45. Be there for 8:30, my foot. (Oh, The Administrator's Administrative Assistant also muted the television when Carlton came out to make announcements. Usually. He missed that cue when Carlton came out to tell us we were all excused for the day, so, instead, he had to answer the same question about 35 times about whether we could go).

Once checked in, the waiting began. Not as bad as labor and childbirth, but not as good as a delayed trans-Atlantic flight -- just sort of a gynecologist-appointment-on-a-day-when-he-has-an-emergency-in-the-delivery-room wait. (If you're a man who happens to be reading this, ask the mother of your children to describe the depth of this eternity). The really good thing about the wait is that you can get in some outstanding people-watching! I saw people of all ages, genders, races, socio-economic levels, and relative IQs. There was one man in pajama pants -- I wonder if he was one of the homeless I walked among while cutting through the abandoned Hyatt Hotel driveway from the parking deck to the courthouse. That was one sad sight. I think I'll choose a different short-cut next time -- listening to unfamiliar snoring amid urine-tinged air is not a good way to start the day.

But, one must make lemonade when besieged by lemons. I think my favorite people-watching sighting -- a sighting that made me feel not quite so put-upon -- was one of our former U.S. Attorneys. He had to sign in just like the rest of us. He cuts a rather striking figure, anyway, being all of about 5' 5", maybe 130 lbs., and sporting a mane (except for the male pattern-baldness spot on top) of snow-white wiry hair that cascades a good 4" past his shoulders. And today he was wearing black socks that featured red chili peppers. Red chili peppers on the former U.S. Attorney's socks. Now that's New Orleans style.

Civic Duty Trumps Hobnobbing With Royalty

Mardi Gras in Washington -- or “Washington Mardi Gras” -- is always held near the end of January. The "Krewe of Louisianians" is Captained by Senator Mary Landrieu, and the other Congressional Members are Lieutenants, etc.

This year the big events are on Friday night the 30th and Saturday night the 31st. Just simple little black tie affairs at the Washington Hilton Tower with 1000+ of your best friends from around the state, political bigwigs, serious military brass, and captains of industry. Nothing out of the ordinary.

We've never been invited to go even though our good friend, Tom, has been a member of the Krewe for several years. Tickets are usually difficult to obtain, but this year, because his daughter Veronica (yeah -- isn't that a hoot? How many Veronicas do you know?) was chosen to be a Princess, he was able to obtain more than his normal seniority allocation and invited us!

But do we get to go?

No.

I barely managed to get out of jury duty in December so we could do all that whirlwind fun stuff in Arkansas. We had even agreed to go to D.C., but then I wasn't as successful in getting out of jury duty this and next week. Heck, I can't even schedule a hair appointment due to the uncertainty as to when I have to report -- I have to call in every night after 5:30 to find out whether Jury Pool Group #4 will be required to show up the next day at freakin' 8:30 in the morning!

So, while Tom and his lovely family are celebrating Veronica's ascent to royalty amid the D.C. elite, I will be miserable, cooling my heels in the "jury lounge" (think "holding cell chic") in our dilapidated Orleans Parish civil courts building, knowing that no lawyer in his right mind would EVER seat a cranky, fifty-something, white lady-lawyer on his jury, but having to stay until that certitude is made known to all possible judges. Daily.

So, I asked Tom and Debbie to do a curtsy to HRH Veronica for me, and to take lots of pictures. Isn't civic duty just the best?!