NONFICTION -
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Mask Wardrobe - Jane Hudson
The Postcard
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Good Afternoon,
I hope this email finds you safe and well. Your request to be excused has been granted. No further action is required. Best, Jury Services |
"Victory! Sweet Victory! I send a jubilant thank you to the court and dance around the room.
That seems like a good place to end. But it's not quite the whole story.
Last year, when I was summoned to jury duty, my group was called into the courtroom. After explaining what to expect in the coming days, the judge asked those who wished to be excused to form a line. When it was our turn at the microphone, he instructed, we should state our reason for requesting excusal and he would determine our fate—on the spot. I lined up. When it was my turn, I said that I’d had difficulty hearing the clerk and the bailiff. It was an old courtroom, I explained, with a bad echo, and . . . The judge held up his hand, palm out, to stop me. He mulled for a moment. Then his eyes widened, his eyebrows raised, and a Mona Lisa-like smile crept across his lips. He leaned forward, gestured to the jury box immediately to his right, looked directly at me and said: "I think you’ll be just fine. You can sit right up here next to me."
If there is a moral to my story, I think it’s simply this: Sometimes you’re lucky. But, then again, sometimes you’re not.
That seems like a good place to end. But it's not quite the whole story.
Last year, when I was summoned to jury duty, my group was called into the courtroom. After explaining what to expect in the coming days, the judge asked those who wished to be excused to form a line. When it was our turn at the microphone, he instructed, we should state our reason for requesting excusal and he would determine our fate—on the spot. I lined up. When it was my turn, I said that I’d had difficulty hearing the clerk and the bailiff. It was an old courtroom, I explained, with a bad echo, and . . . The judge held up his hand, palm out, to stop me. He mulled for a moment. Then his eyes widened, his eyebrows raised, and a Mona Lisa-like smile crept across his lips. He leaned forward, gestured to the jury box immediately to his right, looked directly at me and said: "I think you’ll be just fine. You can sit right up here next to me."
If there is a moral to my story, I think it’s simply this: Sometimes you’re lucky. But, then again, sometimes you’re not.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jill Stovall grew up on the East Coast and transplanted to the Bay Area in the early 1990s, after a 7-year expatriation in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. While in Saudi, she started a small cottage industry, taught English to kindergarteners on a Saudi Royal Air Force Base, and served as board president of an international pre-school. After relocating to California and receiving an MA from California State University, East Bay, she began work in a congressional district office where she became Director of Constituent Services for an East Bay congressman. Since retiring, she has earned a certificate in grant writing and volunteered at several nonprofits. She joined OLLI at SF State in 2015 and currently serves on the Curriculum Committee.
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