Last month I received one of those dreaded red envelopes from LA county. Written across the front: JUROR. The county must be expanding its jury selection program because a number of people I know got these troublesome things. I figured I could weasel out of it by claiming “finanacial hardship” as an upstanding, self-employed, taxpayer.

Not so. They’ve thought of everything on that mailer. Every excuse, every answer, even some levity about the meager pay.

To get out of serving you need one of these:

1. Doctor’s note
2. Moving out of state
3. Death

Not possible, not likely, not desired.

My postponement was this week which requires a call-in each evening to hear a recording of your fate for the following day. I started to look forward to calling at 6:05 PM, like a crazy slot machine player in Vegas, hoping today was my lucky day. Would I be told to stay home (yeah! three cherries!) or have to drag myself to Compton and sit around on the remote chance of being called in, profiled by lawyers, then asked telling questions.

Maybe they’re on vacation this week because I won the jackpot. Not a single day to serve. A gambler would say I beat the system. I’ll go with 1337: pwnd.

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