All rise

Editor’s Note: So, I didn’t get much sleep last night and I just ate mashed potatoes for breakfast. (I’ll get to that in a bit. The not-sleeping part; not the mashed potatoes part. I am a 50-year-old woman. Don’t judge me.) Just know last night involved me trying to sleep in a freezing guest room while wearing the wristband of the damned I recently gifted The Weed for Christmas.

Soon, I might get to judge people. Like really judge them.

As a newspaper reporter, I spent a lot of time in courtrooms. (That’s a rough transition from the Editor’s Note above. Thanks for reading on if you bridged that divide!)

I was fortunate enough to sit through some interesting and not-so-interesting cases and report on their outcomes.

In doing so, I always found people’s behavior in the courtroom especially curious. Read: Extra.

For instance, there was the juvenile judge, who if he caught someone chewing gum in his courtroom, he would make them put it on their nose. Then, there was the defense attorney who threw his mobile phone across the room after he pulled the battery and it continued to ring, annoying a very stern judge on the bench.

Luckily, I have spent most of my time in court professionally. Only on one occasion was I required to appear before a judge to plead my case after my involvement in a nasty traffic accident in a suburb of Phoenix, AZ, where it is accepted that everyone drives like their hair is on fire and turn signals are a dare, not courtesy or commitment. In that case, the officer who responded to the crash never showed up in court and my indiscretion was dismissed, somewhat rudely, by the judge.

So, today, when I got the daily email from the post office displaying what to soon expect at the snail mail box, I was bemused to see a jury summons addressed to me.

I suspect with COVID and all, my jury requirement will be waived. However, I did let my mind wander a bit about what I might encounter in a county courtroom in the coming year.

First, I went with the Stanley Hudson, from The Office, dream of: ‘I’ve been trying to get on jury duty every year since I was 18 years old. To get to go sit in an air-conditioned room, downtown, judging people, while my lunch is paid for…That is the life.’

Then, I anxiously stood in my closet assessing what clothing I might wear if this jury situation actually materializes. Since March, I have only worn yoga pants, sweat pants, and short pants. I suspect none of these would be acceptable in a serious setting. So, I might need to go shopping before I get to be judgey.

Finally, I showed The Weed the email and incoming notice. (He recently received a summons and was downright pissed. Years ago, he served on a jury in state court and spent a few weeks tied up there. To this day, he is vague when I ask him about the case. I guess he could have been spending that time with his second wife and kids, for all I know.)

Anyway, when The Weed saw the jury summons, he responded: ‘What the hell? Not again! Wait. That’s for you. Ha!!!’

With that, he walked back into his office and continued to chuckle. I’ll find out in a few days if this is the comedic situation The Weed has made it out to be.

•••

This thing is surprisingly jolty. Buyer beware.

Speaking of The Weed, I feel pretty lucky he hasn’t brought assault charges against me.

Yet.

After he encountered a harrowing night earlier this week trying to sleep while wearing the Sleep Connection Anti-Snoring Wristband I gifted him for Christmas, last night I pledged—in a show of solidarity—to try to sleep while wearing the wristband.

I even consented to sleep in the guest room so the Lord of the Manor could get a full night’s rest without any distraction(s) from me or the assaultive band.

Getting to the point: Last night sucked.

I made it until about 3 a.m. with slight shocks/disturbances from the wristband. I’m not sure why I was being shocked because I never snore but I was shocked.

Then, at 3 a.m., I rolled over in bed and that demonic wristband shocked me into next week. Seriously. I had to sit up and rub my head like Wil E. Coyote after an ACME detonator explosion. It was quite a jolt!

I promptly took the wristband off and put it on the nightstand beside the bed. Only then, did I realize I needed to turn it off or its red power light would continue to glare at me like the Eye of Sauron and I would never fall back to sleep.

In the end, I couldn’t figure out how to turn off the stupid thing. I even searched for the teeny, tiny screwdriver that came with it, thinking I could just remove the battery. No dice.

Eventually, I put a pillow over the wristband and quietly watched Schitt’s Creek on my iPad until first light.

I’m exhausted today and compensating with too many carbs.

I’m also coming to terms with never getting back the $40 I shelled out for that wristband but I now know the nap I plan to take later today will be priceless.