Last week Anne came into the house in a hurry with something on her mind. She had been down at the road getting the mail. “Guess what?” she said, “You have been called for jury duty.”
“ME?” I screamed. “But I'm ninety-five years old… Yes, I would love to serve on a jury. Say! You know I COULD do it. There is an elevator at the back of the courthouse. I could take it to the second floor, wheel myself down the corridor to the court room at the front of the building and sit comfortably in my wheelchair at the jury box. I would be fulfilling my civic duty.”
“No way, José!” Anne screamed in the only Spanish she knew. It is all Anne can do to get through the day. To sit on a hard wooden bench in the court room would be impossible for her. She has MS with several complications, diabetes and has had a multitude of surgeries. Her energy level is in the toilet. There is no way she could be there all day, even one day. Anne put her foot down—HARD!
"No way, José," she screamed again.
"OK then. How do I get out of it?" I thought they must really like me at the courthouse. Why else would a person my age be called for jury duty? I was so pleased to have friends in high places.
But that wasn't the reason I was called. The selection is made from the driver's license registry. My driver’s license is valid until I am ninety-eight. I may even be called again.
The last time I was called, Anne and I sat all day in the crowded courtroom listening to the various names as they were called. We sat next to a former Tennessee State Trooper discussing everything under the sun. He was always excused. I was not called either.
The time before that, I was in my eighties, working as a caregiver for Comfort Keepers. Since I would have to be replaced, I was excused.
The time before that was fun. I was impaneled on a jury. The first case we would hear was the same day, but I was soon excused. After all, I had the same insurance agent as the defendant. I was asked if that was a problem. “Yes, it was,” I replied.
It was at the beginning of the first Iraqi conflict. The defendant was a Vietnam vet and was reliving his involvement in that conflict as he watched the Iraqi war unfold on television. If that insurance agent had walked on me as he had on that vet, I would have blown him away, too.
“Excused!” yelled both the prosecutor and the defense attorney. at the same time. The defendant? He was acquitted.
Back to my current problem. Anne called the court clerk to learn how I could be excused. A doctor’s statement would do the trick, they said. Ok, I got one.
When Anne presented it to the court clerk, she was told that my age alone would have excised me. That’s OK. I needed a checkup anyway.