The Kings Kourt. And Other Things That Really Start With "C"

I'm a sucker for a lot of things. No, not that. Whether it be a kid getting hit in the head with any type of sporting tool, a well done marriage proposal video, or an old person dancing anywhere, it's these little things that make me smile. I'll watch or stare at any of those things day after day, week after week and month after month. Not year after year, though, because that would be a pretty long time to be watching outdated You Tube videos. I don't have time for your Internet nostalgia. We all have quirks and other such weirdocities (not a word) that most people can't understand. For instance, my brother loves hardcore rap music and Eric Clapton. His iPod is filled with "poppin' shorties on the 2-4 grind holla at yo' boys" (possibly not a real lyric) and "Layla." I'm not sure how those two get together, but when I found out those were his two interests let's just say I became deathly afraid of Eric Clapton cappin' me upside the brain piece.

Eric Clapton don't play. Or do play. I don't own an urban dictionary.

A lot of people don't find about these oddities of your personality because you're not with them 24/7. Most people don't know that you need to have every light turned off in your apartment before you go to bed. Or that your closet must be arranged from pants to shirts going right to left. Or that until you were 23 you always ate the side order then main course then took a sip of the drink. That guy should probably have had some Prozac for breakfast. Since those tendencies don't get magnified until you're in a relationship they are never pounced upon by people. This is why I would finally like to come clean about something that’s bothering me.

I like anything to do with court.

Now I'm not saying I like court room dramas like Law and Order, Law and Order: SVU, Boston Legal, Boston Illegal, and Legally Boston Illegal. Well, I guess I am saying that because I do like those shows. There's something about the sassy attractive mid 30s DA and the curmudgeonly sidekick who got passed over for Miss Sassafras that makes me want to watch. I assume every court room is like that. Then I turn on the Casey Anthony case and there's no sass or frass to be seen anywhere. Where's the no nonsense judge? Where's the outburst from the crowd? Where's Christopher Meloni doing things that defy all laws of this country?

I don't know when I became infatuated with court rooms, but it was probably at the time of the Orenthal James Simpson case of aught 95. It was a rough time. Actually it wasn't. I was 15 and a sophomore in high school. The previous year the New York Rangers had won the Stanley Cup and in a fit of jubilation I bought as much commemorative merchandise as I could. Total present value of said merchandise? $2.71. I remember thinking how cool it would have been to be on the jury. Hear all that stuff about the stuff being said. Make a decision! Making decisions is totally what adults do and I wanted to be an adult. What better way to be an adult than to be on a jury with 11 of your peers to decide whether a man is innocent or guilty of varying degrees of crime? A mortgage would probably be more adult.

(Aside: In all of these cases the judge or someone says you're entitled to a trial in front of a jury of your peers. In what world is a 68 year old retiree from Arkansas that made his money in aardvark embryos my peer? I don't want this guy deciding my fate. Listen, I may hang out with some eclectic people but Mr. Embryo isn't one of them. When people say "peer pressure" I don't think they're imagining a baby convincing a teenager to smoke. "Here try this Marlboro." "You're a baby." "You're the baby if you don't try this, baby!" "Ok." I think we should just say "you're entitled to a trial in front of some random people who really would rather not be here at all.")

Once I turned 18 I knew that I had the chance to be picked for jury duty. It was going to be my one shining moment to show off all of those analytical skills I picked up from playing Risk during Gifted and Talented class. I had honed my craft of wading through all the nonsense to make sure a proper verdict was going to be placed on someone through years of delicate television watching while trying not to eat spaghetti while watching said TV. Do you know how hard it is to concentrate on something while eating spaghetti? You want to make sure you get all the spaghetti in your mouth so your attention is kind of divided from whatever else is going on. I dare you to try to have a conversation while eating spaghetti and remembering what the conversation was.

More like Spaghetti –Oh NO! Am I right?

Never mind.

It took me almost 12 years, but in April I was finally called in for jury duty. I told my mom that I had been called in and she said, “I feel bad for you.” When I said that I was really excited she rebutted with, “you should see a doctor.” No time for doctors Marental Unit, I have decisions to make. After waiting for hours we were all brought into the court room and some of us were seated in the jury box. It was the first time I was in a court room where someone didn’t say “RAY-Hool Sub… Sub... Sub-aray-name...whatever, you’re next on the docket.” Which would then be followed by the judge giving me a lecture on something obvious. “Speeding is dangerous. Fix your headlight. Wear Sunscreen. Liquor before beer blah blah blah.”

When I was sitting in the jury box I was dreaming of what it would be like to be put on this attempted murder case. I would be intensely scribbling down notes. Giving the lawyers my best raised eyebrow. Yelling out “UNHAND THAT MAN!” Ok, maybe not the last one, but I would be prepared. They let us go and told us they would announce who would be on the jury that afternoon. How could I not be picked? College educated. Minority. Critical thinker. Wore a tie.

This summer, Aziz Ansari is… THE JUROR.

After an hour the booming voice from the PA system said a plea deal had been reached and there would be no trial. We would be given a slip saying we had served on the jury and couldn’t be picked for the next year. Everyone hooted and hollered. I slunk in my chair. I had to wait another year to put some fools away? What if I never get picked again? It was devastating. A man patted me on the back and said, “Isn’t this great!” I said, “Sure.” Then he skipped away on a unicorn made of rainbows. It was weird. One day I may get to be on a jury with some peers and I’ll have to be ready.

I just hope it’s not Eric Clapton’s trial.