Miscellaneous

Jury Duty

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The first of Jury Duty is: you complain about Jury Duty.

In an effort to not go against the rules, here we go: let me set the scene. It’s last Wednesday, the temperature in New York had been hovering at an inhuman 5 degrees Fahrenheit for a week already. The weatherman was warning us of certain death to come the next day. Ok, not certain death, but a BOMBOGENESIS. Now don’t get me wrong, I work for 1,700 rabbis and that term was CLEARLY biblical in origin, but I had never heard of it. All I knew was, it was cold AF and the meteorologists I follow on twitter (shoutout @jimcantore) were comparing it to a blizzard-hurricane combo. What in the literal f***.

I left work on Wednesday praying for a snow day… until I realized I wasn’t going to work the next day anyway. I had jury duty. My coworkers kept telling me that in this impending storm, the courts were sure to close. Call the night before, they said. If schools close, the courts will close, they said. They were wrong.

So the next morning, as all of my coworkers snuggled in bed in their PJs with hot coffee in mugs… I put on 4 layers of clothes and snow boots, and trudged through wind gusts and horizontal blowing snow down to Chinatown. Don’t get me wrong, I’d LOVE to serve on a jury. As an ex-attorney who has watched every episode of law and order 100 times and still has a pretty adamant hatred toward police, I can think of nothing I’d rather do more than explain to my fellow jurors what “innocent until proven guilty” and “beyond a reasonable doubt” means. I had dreams of 12 Angry Men, but with me as the holdout juror that convinces everyone else that a man was clearly innocent. I have incredible distrust for authority in general, and that extends even further against the police. In other words, there’s pretty much no way in hell I’d be picked for a criminal jury. I have “pre-emptive strike” written across my forehead in red permanent marker. However, this is what made my jury duty trip even more frustrating. I knew it was for naught! Maybe next time I’m called, I can just send them this blog as evidence and skip the blizzard-hurricane trek downtown. But even worse, I was selected for a jury in civil court. BO-RING.

But, I did it. I didn’t have a choice. I had a jury summons that said, “PREVIOUSLY ABSENT, MUST SERVE.” In red. You see, I had been called for jury duty before. Twice, in fact. The first time, I was going to be in London on the date of service, so I requested my automatic one-time adjournment. The second time I was summoned I was going to be in Costa Rica. But there’s no automatic second adjournment option, so I just didn’t show up. I know, I know, world’s smallest violin playing for me and my worldly travels. Point is, I had to go to the court house this time, bombogenesis or not.

I got down there and sure enough, there in the hallway were 100 other of my soon-to-be-closest-friends. We all complained together. It was a grand old time. Once we were let in the waiting room, there was a woman who told us all about jury duty. She is the equivalent of a “fluffer” in porn. Getting us all ready for the big show. Another simile: she was like the warm-up comedian before the live taping of The View; she got us HYPE for what was to come, and she thought way too highly of herself and her power trip. Maybe I should have used that second comparison first.

Anyway, this woman was obnoxious. She told us approximately 118 times that if we were unable to serve, we needed to go across the street and request an adjournment. Not too many people left. In hindsight, I am 90% sure this is because no one wanted to go outside, period. The bombogenesis was in full effect and I was monitoring the auto-text messaging from NY Courts as various court closings came through to my phone. New York City was never one of them. And then we sat.

And then we continued to sit. Jury duty is a lot of sitting. Thankfully I brought my kindle. But even better, jury duty is PRIME people watching. It would make a great case study. Over 100 people in a room, trapped and waiting, antsy and half asleep. The guy behind me started the snore. The woman next to me took out a Joel Osteen book. It was going to be a longggg day.

Soon enough, I made friends. This happens pretty much everywhere I go. There was a girl who was a nurse at NYU who was semi thankful to be in jury duty dong nothing versus in the ER dealing with bombogenesis fallout. And my friend Mrs. Joel Osteen was a nursery school aid/home business entrepreneur aka skincare pyramid scheme participant. Yes, she asked for my contact information. No, my skin has not improved.

After 4 hours of sitting and waiting, a state of emergency was declared for New York City. The volume of chatter increased as we discussed what that meant for our fates. Our warm-up comedian came out of her side office, and told us that there was only one judge in, and he didn’t need us. She told us we were getting credit for time served. (I know that’s the incarceration term, not the jury duty term, but same thing.) CHEERS erupted from the crowd. Some guy in the back wished our warm-up comedian’s grandson a happy birthday. She thanked him. I wondered how they got so close in 4 hours’ time.

I picked up my paper proving my service, quickly took a photo of it and uploaded it to the cloud so as never to lose credit for my time, and I sloshed my way back to the subway. In my four hours in the dungeons of civil court, a foot of snow had fallen. I finally arrived home around 3 pm, left to ponder all of those criminals I didn’t get a chance to save from jail. Maybe next time. In 7 years.

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Miscellaneous

Hurricane Irma

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Ladies and Gents, it’s looking more and more likely that the deadly Category 5 Hurricane Irma is headed toward South Florida and I am terrified for all of my friends. Also, I am GLUED to every meteorologist on twitter (Bryan Norcross, anyone?? What a silver/blond fox). Personally, I have been tracking the storm since Saturday, paying closer attention to the direction of the “cone of uncertainty” than I paid attention to any of my classes in college. Or high school. Or anything in my life, TBH. The one class I did pay extreme attention to in college: Extreme Weather; thanks UF for those interesting GenEd Science credits. I took that class the year of Hurricane Katrina and Hurricane Wilma and I remember tracking them in class using cold and warm fronts, air pressure, wind speed and direction, altitude etc. Something about hurricane-tracking is mesmerizing. Maybe it’s the fact that we don’t really know where it’s going. We’ve all seen the meme about weathermen constantly being wrong.

Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s the one major devastating weather pattern that we can actually track days in advance. Talk about Must-See-TV… The Weather Channel LIVES for this! And one week after Hurricane Harvey, too. I didn’t forget about the thousands of people affected by Harvey, but I have a much more personal connection to Florida, so Irma has been catching my eye.

Irma is already record-breaking, with sustained wind speeds of 185 MPH. As a point of reference, the Saffir-Simpson scale, which measures hurricanes (common knowledge for a Floridian), has 5 categories of hurricanes with 5 being the biggest. Category 4 is 130-157 MPH, which is a 27 point range. Category 5 is over 157. Irma is 185, 28 points above that. Basically, if a category 6 even existed, it would be that. That is terrifying.

I moved to South Florida in 1997, hot on the heels of the last huge category 5 hurricane that hit Florida, Hurricane Andrew. Andrew hit in 1992, so you may argue that 5 years later was not “hot on the heels,” but I would disagree. I remember specifically the real estate agent mentioning hurricanes when we were looking at houses, because it was still on everyone’s minds. Would a house withstand wind gusts of 100+ mph? If we get a house with 20-foot ceilings and 20-foot windows, as almost all two-story houses have in South Florida, who would put the hurricane shutters up? Are the windows hurricane-resistant? I distinctly remember these questions.

If you didn’t grow up in South Florida, or any hurricane-prone region, you probably think I am nuts. Alternatively, you think Florida peeps have it all figured out because you have seen all of the memes that Floridians post about “preparing for a hurricane” aka buying beer and wine and downplaying the whole thing. But I can tell you from my very selective Facebook sampling of my South Florida friends – they are all officially freaking the f*ck out. Many of them are using the popular hashtag #Irmagerd. I had one friend who saw two armed police officers guarding the new supply of water at the grocery store. I have another friend who woke up at 3 am to try and beat the lines and fill her car up with gas, only to wait 45 minutes in line and then find out that all of the pumps were empty.

Social media can be both bad and good in these times of crisis:

Bad: Group hysteria. Horror stories abound. Also, sometimes fake news is shared. Don’t tape your windows guys, come on. I thought this was common knowledge by now.

Good: Keeping in touch with friends (until power goes out). Sharing preparedness tips and tricks, like this amazing quarter on a frozen cup of ice trick. Crowd sourcing any stores that still have water or propane. Finding AMAZING stories on twitter, like about the Delta pilot who flew his plane in and out of Puerto Rico yesterday between the bands of the hurricane. What a crazy person. Separate but related: I had my #bestdayever on twitter yesterday, I got 78 likes on a tweet about this pilot. I barely have 45 followers! P.S. FOLLOW ME!

My Famous Tweet:

I have some fond memories of my hurricane-preparedness in South Florida, and luckily, a big one never hit. Rather, I should say I never personally experienced one. Hurricane Wilma was pretty big and my family lost power for over a week. Also, the back windows blew out and my mom and brother evacuated to Atlanta. I was already at college at the time, so I didn’t personally feel the effects. But the fact that a big one didn’t hit when I lived at home doesn’t mean we didn’t prepare for a big one more than once. I remember filling the bathtubs with water, filling the cars with gas, stocking our canned goods and readying our internal camp-out room. We used to uninstall the shelving from the closet underneath our stairs, line the floors with cushions, pillows and blankets, and settle down in our window-less bunker, waiting for the hurricane to pass. My brother and I used to love hanging out under the stairs. Once, we even convinced our mom to keep the pillows and blankets in there as a play fort for an entire week after the storm. Luckily for us, it was all fun and games. And luckily, we were smart enough to be prepared every time.

So to my Florida BFF’s, BE SAFE OUT THERE!! And keep making memes. If you laugh, it’s harder to cry. And if, FINGERS CROSSED, this thing takes a sharp turn east and misses you, please still prepare next time. Better safe than sorry. Build your blanket fort and grab your beef jerky and transistor radio. I’ll meet you under the stairs.

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Big City Living

Rainy Daze

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It has been raining all morning. And afternoon. Ok, it’s basically been raining since Saturday. In New York City, this weather brings a certain type of lethargy. It’s the “why is the subway 4 blocks from my house” lethargy. Or the “I am soaking wet by the time I get to work because the bus didn’t come for 14 minutes” lethargy. Or it’s the “I was stabbed in the eye 5 times by an umbrella and now I can’t see” lethargy. People look soaked, dejected, and depressed. Sort of like an entire city of Eeyores.

I never had an appreciation of how this terrible weather can affect your mood until I started living in a city that requires an outside commute. In Florida, you got in your car and besides driving 5 MPH below the speed limit, you were fine. It sucked when it was raining because you couldn’t go to the pool or beach, but most of the time it rained for an hour, and then you were back out on the beach, or on your chaise lounge. Here, when it rains, it POURS. Literally. In New York, when it starts to rain, you know it is not likely to stop for a few days. Also, the rain here is not like god saying “oh the grass looks yellow, let me give it a sprinkle,” it’s more like god saying “YOUR ENTIRE CITY HAS WRONGED ME AND THEREFORE YOU ARE TO DIE OF A FLOOD LIKE NOAH AND HIS ARK.”

The one respite from this monsoon weather is scaffolding. TGFS. Thank God For Scaffolding. I often plan my walks during monsoon days by picking the side of the street with the most scaffolding. Most routes have scaffolding on one side of the street or the other. So I zig zag my way to my destination. But just when you think you are safe under some scaffolding, a car pulls up too close to the curb, into the huge puddles of water (because why would the drainage in this city be any better than the public transit system?) and sprays a high-tide wave of water on all innocent bystanders. This morning, I decided to take the bus to work because the subway never works in the rain. Don’t ask me why. It baffles me that a public transit system specifically designed to go UNDERGROUND, away from the rain, is somehow ALWAYS effed up when there is any sort of weather. Hot, cold, snow, rain, anything besides 72 degrees and sunny. Anyway, I digress, you have already heard me gripe enough about the subway. This morning, after waiting 10 minutes in pouring rain for a bus, I was already wet. Like to the very last layer. And then the bus finally pulled up and it sprayed a tsunami-like wave puddle. Happy Monday to us.

Now as I mentioned, some New Yorkers find it necessary to carry umbrellas. I do not understand this because the rain here does not fall from the sky. It comes from east and west, north and even sometimes from the south. An umbrella does not help protect anything except MAYBE the top of your head. And even then, the wind is constantly turning umbrellas inside out. There’s a phenomenon here called the “5 block umbrella.” Basically, you buy it on the street for $5, and it lasts you exactly 1 block per dollar you paid for it. On every corner, you will see what I call an “umbrella graveyard,” where piles of these 5-block-umbrellas have reached their 5-block capacity, and are laid to rest in various stages of broken. Torn from their metal bones, inside out, and tossed away. Not worth it.

A few years ago, I invested in a rain jacket, and it is the best purchase I have ever made in New York. Don’t get me wrong, I still get completely soaked wherever my rain coat doesn’t cover, but at least it gives me a semblance of dry, and I can maneuver easier around the aforementioned umbrella dummies. The one great thing about this rain, the temperature has dropped 30 degrees! It was 68 degrees this morning. I’ll take it! Stay dry, y’all.

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