A Rough Night for Some Guy

So, I went out a little before 8am this morning for my weekly trip to the grocery store.  I got down the steps and found this guy passed out in the vestibule between our apartment building's two doors.

I opened the inner door and called out, "hey, hey man!" and "can I get past you?" and stuff, but he didn't stir, not a twitch.  I managed to hop down and around his outstretched leg and out to the sidewalk.  The vestibule reeked of stale cigarette smoke.

While getting around him I saw clutched in one hand was a glass pipe with scorch marks at one end, probably a crack pipe (or some other kind of drug, I'm not expert).

When I got back fifteen minutes later he was sitting up.  I asked if I could slip past him and into the inner door and he shifted a bit to give me some more space.   He said a few things, but his voice was rough and raw and slurred, so I wasn't able to figure it out.

I sent a message to our building superintendent, including the above photo and his reply was "Omg".

A couple of hours later I had to make another trip out, and I got down the steps to find him propping himself up.  

Again on my way out I asked if I could get by him, and he didn't respond in any way I could detect, no movement, no words, nothing.  I managed to get by him and go out to take care of my errands.

On returning another neighbor was just exiting the building to take his dog for a walk.  We discussed the passed out guy, and the neighbor snapped a photo from the outside and sent it to the superintendent, then left to walk his dog around the neighborhood.

I got upstairs and thought maybe if the guy is dehydrated some water might help him feel better and get a move on.  Maybe he'd just had a rough night of overindulging and wasn't able to get home.  So I filled up a large metal mug with fresh, cool water from the tap (my wife and I only drink tap water, we don't keep bottled water around).  

When I got downstairs with the cup of water the guy appeared to have a hand inside his shorts and was moving it about, masturbating...

As soon as I opened the door he stopped.  I offered him the cup of water and he didn't react, didn't turn, didn't say anything, didn't move, nothing, like he was as passed out as he'd been earlier.

I made the offer about a dozen times, "hey, man, I brought you some water," and "I have a cup of water if you'd like," and so forth.  I tapped the cup against the tile walls a few times to see if I could make some noise to wake up, but no luck.

Going back inside, and being sure to close the inner door, I saw his hand get back to work inside his shorts, doing what he'd been doing before.  That just pissed me off, he wasn't passed out, he was ignoring me and I was trying to do the decent thing by offering him some water.

Fuck 'im...

I went back upstairs and dumped the water down the sink and messaged the building superintendent again.  Then got back to what I was doing on the computer...

3 Things I Saw Commuting on the Subway Today

Three things I saw commuting on the subway today.

1. Waiting at 49th Street for my train this morning I watched a rather large rat walk along the wall of the platform.  I stayed still, trying not to spook it, let it go about its business.  I thought it would walk around me.  But nope!  It walked right over my feet.  It’s claws tickled a little through my thick, wool socks.  When I twisted around to see where it would go, it darted off like a lightning bolt to hide behind a Metrocard machine (which is where I usually see the rats go down at that platform, they’re just not usually as large at this rat was).

2. When I got on the N train in Brooklyn to go home after work I sat down facing forward, near the front.  Two guys were sitting in the front two seats ahead of the door.  After the door closed the guy on the left took off his mask, poured some white powder out of a little jar onto the back of his hand and snorted it up his nose, then screwed the lid back on the jar, pulled his mask back up over his mouth and nose, then read on his phone till he exited the train at Canal Street.

3. The other guy sitting in the front got up at 34th Street - Herald Square and pushed his wire cart to the door, but didn’t get off.  He picked up a coffee cup off the ground and set it in his cart.  Then stood by the door when it closed and the train left for Times Square - 42nd Street.  The train switched from the express to the local track and he seemed a bit confused that it would be the opposite door, behind him, that was going to open.

At 42nd Street he turned around, pushed his cart to the door and stood there, looking vaguely confused when the door opened.  He stayed there, inside the train as a few people stepped in around him.  Till a pair of better dressed men came in, said something to the guy with the cart.  The guy with the cart picked up his fabric tote bag and coffee cup trash out of it and walked off the train.  

One of the better dressed men pulled the cart and took a seat at the front, while the other one sat opposite him.  Inside the cart, underneath the fabric tote bag the first guy took with him were several oblong bundles neatly wrapped in white plastic bags.  

Jury Duty in Manhattan, Again

So, last week I had jury duty, again.

This time it was at a different courthouse than my previous jury duty in 2013.  I had to go to 111 Centre Street, room 1121.  I think this was a New York County court rather than a state one, I don't know.

I got there around 8am, an hour early for the 9am time.  I walked around outside for a little bit, then decided to go through the security stuff early, before any lines formed up.  Security was easy, the guards barely paid attention to me, and once I'd walked through the metal detector and my stuff passed through the x-ray machine, they no longer even looked my direction.

Upstairs on the 11th floor I had a while to wait.  I snapped a few photos of the view just after sunrise. Then I saw the sign that said no photographs may be taken under any circumstances.  Although judging by the security cameras on the ceiling, there are circumstances...

The head clerk was the same fellow as last time, seven years ago, William T. Stevenson.  He was pretty cool, with a very positive attitude about, well, everything.  Actually, it was reassuring, considering how stressful I find jury duty.

The clerks began the orientation for jurors at just after 9am, showing us a video and giving us instructions on filling out a small demographic form, then turning in our juror ballots so they know who all is there.

Then we waited.  And waited.  One of the clerks, Mr. Stevenson, occasionally let us know that they were "waiting for work" to come from the judges.

About 10% of the jurors in the room were clearly sick, coughing, sneezing and sniffling pretty steadily.  There wasn't a "sick section," they were scattered around so there wasn't anywhere to escape the risk of infection.

Around 11am the clerks announced that a civil trial was sending up some lawyers to us to find some jurors, which was unusual instead of us going to them in a courtroom.

When the lawyers entered it was obvious who they were, their suits were definitely high quality, way above what the only male clerk, or the two male jurors who came in suits were wearing.

They gave us in the jury pool a quick introduction to their case, asbestos poisoning.  They said it would last about 6 weeks, and listed the dates, which in my head I totaled up to just under 8 weeks.  Then they handed out a questionnaire to everyone, which also listed the dates of the trial, just under 8 weeks.

We stood up, raised our right hands and swore an oath, then sat down to fill in the questionnaires.  The first question was if we would face any hardships sitting on a jury for that length of time.  Of course, I would, so I wrote an essay there about being the sole breadwinner of my household and that missing my regular paychecks for that duration would be a hardship, but if absolutely required I could sell some assets, pawn some items, or pay my rent on a credit card.

Another question was "have you ever been in jury selection for another asbestos case?" For that, I checked "yes" because, in fact, I have.

The lawyers then gathered up the questionnaires from everyone and went into a small side room to go through them.  It wasn't very long before they went to the clerks and asked for a small number of people to come forward.  I wasn't one of them, but the discussion was loud enough to hear, that they picked those jurors who would then go home and on some specific evening call the courthouse for instructions where to appear the following day.

The clerk then asked us if we wanted our questionnaires back or we would be ok with him shredding them in the room in front of us.  He made it clear that whatever we chose, he would release us for lunch after he finished whichever choice, and if we wanted them back it would take a lot longer to call people one-by-one to come up and get their own than for him to stuff the papers in the shredder...    We chose shredder...

Then it was out for an hour and a half lunch break.  The whole jury selection process is monstrously stressful for me, so I didn't think I could eat without tossing it back up.  I just walked around the neighborhood for a while, getting fresh air.  It's nice walking around that area on a workday, when I'm usually in my office elsewhere.

After returning from my walk I bought a couple of bags of chips from the vending machine in the jurors' assembly room, one of plantains and one of corn chips.

The afternoon session was pretty similar.  We sat around, the clerk came around everyone now and then to let us know that we were "waiting for work" from the judges, but that there simply weren't any trials starting that needed jurors.

This went on till about 3:30pm when the clerk, Mr. Stevenson, said he'd called the judge and there wasn't anything going on, so he got permission to release us, not just for the day, but from this summons.  He had us stick around while they distributed the letters to keep that said we served and the courts under the state system cannot call us back for another four years (used to be six, but the laws changed).

And that was that for me, I walked up to Canal Street and took an N train back home, getting there slightly earlier than I would on a normal workday.

Honestly, I feel a little guilty that twice now I've gotten out of my civic duty based on money.  It's supposed to be something of a sacrifice for the greater good of society, etc.  I get that, I'm willing to make some sacrifice.  But both times, eight weeks out of work was just too much.  I'd have had to either sell off assets or go into debt, paying rent and buying food on a credit card, in order to serve.  I know if I ended up on one of those juries, I'd spend eight weeks sitting in the courtroom seething, angry that the judge is getting paid to be there, the lawyers big bucks, probably, to be there, the clerks, the bailiffs, the reporter, the expert witnesses, the news reporters, almost everyone else getting paid to be there, while I'd be there myself paying to be part of it.

I mean, I'd've been willing to serve on a jury for a trial a few days, one, two, five, six, 10 even, you know, in length, I could swing that.  It'd only be a minor dent in my finances.  But eight weeks would just be crushing.

Bodily Functions on Review

So, this week I hit the “trifecta” of witnessing bodily elimination functions during my commutes…

On Tuesday morning, riding the 4 train in Brooklyn, a sleeping guy got up from laying down on the bench and walked to the middle door, closed while the train was running, whipped it out and pissed, in full view of half a dozen passengers, men and women.

On Wednesday evening I was nearly home and saw a guy stretch out both arms on a sidewalk shed, scaffolding.  I thought he was just tired and stretching, but no…. He leaned over a large stream of orange liquid, like he’d been guzzling Irn-Bru, with a few scattered chunks came spewing out his mouth into the gutter alongside the street.  The low evening sun was shining bright from the opposite side, lighting up the stream of vomit to a glowing nuclear orange.

On Thursday evening I was on the N train, just pulling into 49th Street, where I get off.  I was standing at the very front door, almost with my nose on it.  As the train stopped I could see out one side of the window a rolling cart with some stuff in it, but the metal between the windows was blocking my view next to that.  Then the doors opened and there was a dirty bum, crouching, pants down, taking a shit.

On the lucky side, for the two evening ones I was wearing headphones so I didn’t hear any of the associated noises.  Oddly, and quite fortunately, I didn’t smell any of them…

Quora Question: What kind of guitar do you own, and which one do you want to own?

What kind of guitar do you own, and which one do you want to own?

This is my answer from a Quora question...

What Kind of Guitar Do You Own?

Late last year, 2017, I bought a brand new surf green made-in-Mexico Fender Stratocaster.



It’s the first time in my life I’ve touched a guitar. I’m 48 now. In 3rd grade I played the cello for a year, when my mother had a future planned out for me as a concert cellist (I think she was mostly attracted to the idea I’d have a job where I had to wear a tuxedo to work). Then we moved, wound up in a small town and there weren’t any cellos to borrow or rent for me to continue my lessons.

In 6th grade I played the saxophone for half a year when our whole class had half a year of band. I stunk at both instruments. Twinkle Twinkle Little Starwas always out of reach for me, and I minced the Little Lamb Mary Hadbeyond any reasonable form.

But I love music. It’s one of those things I spend an inordinate amount of my income on. And the last few summers I’ve been watching punk rock bands play concerts in Tompkins Square Park here in New York City. So I felt inspired to try and learn a little how to play, and I figured the first step was to actually get a guitar.

I’ve long liked the look of Stratocasters. They simply scream out “rock n roll!” (there’s others that do, too) and I figured since I never held a guitar before the contoured shape might be a little more comfortable to learn with. Since I’m obsessed with the color green, that was the obvious color. I debated whether I should spend more for a genuine branded Fender, or go for a cheaper Squier, but I read the Squier ones have less quality control, and I figured that with my complete inexperience paying a little more would ensure the godawful sound coming from it was my playing, rather than a defective instrument.

I bought a bunch of beginner books, and I signed up for Fender Playwhich has some good beginners’ lessons, that I’m struggling with.

I bought Rocksmith 2014 as well, so I could plug the guitar into the computer as a controller. I got started with that, but my desk chair isn't comfortable to sit on with the guitar and play. My wife is going to give me her old laptop, so I’ll install it on there when she goes overseas for a few months. Then I can put it on the coffee table and play sitting on the floor.

So, I’ve been practicing off and on for over half a year now. I still can’t play any songs. I can’t even play any chords that use more than two fingers on the frets. I can’t play many of them that use just two fingers.

With riffs that use just one string I can’t get my left hand’s fingers up and down the fretboard accurately to actually play note after note after note correctly.

One issue I’m having is I’ve gotten terribly fat the last few years, so the guitar hangs at a funny angle over my belly. That means I have to twist my wrist further around the neck to reach the strings further up on the neck.

Maybe what I need is a live tutor, someone who can start off by seeing how I’m holding the bloody thing to help me correct myself, and then start off with solutions to my obvious problems. I don’t know.

I haven’t been practicing as much since my wife returned from her previous four month trip home to India. I feel a bit foolish picking it up and fumbling around while she’s in hearing range. She’s not very patient with other people trying to learn things around her, either. And when she sees me with it, she assumes I’m free to do chores and run errands.

Maybe I shouldn’t have waiting so long in life to try and learn. Not when my fingers are stiff and achy, about the same age when arthritis started to get debilitating for my father.

And Which Guitar Do You Want to Own?

Well, there’s a few… From punk rock concerts I’ve been to lately, I’ve noticed the majority of the guitar players, especially the ones I liked, were playing various guitars with humbucker pickups rather than single-coil.

I want a Stratocaster with one (or more) humbucker pickups, as they produce more of the sound I’d like to get, if I could actually play it. They have a few green options, plus I could pay more for one from their Mod Shop that would be nicely customized for me. Now that they introduced the Player line, I’ll probably buy one of those.

I was thinking I’d like a green Gibson SG as well. There aren’t many green options out there, unless I look around on eBay. Most of those in any sort of affordable range have only one pickup, but I’m not such an advanced player that that should affect me. The few others are whoppingly expensive professional models.

And while not green, some of the 2018 SG models, the Standard HP 2018, are absolutely gorgeous… I could see myself getting the blood orange or even the hot pink fade. They’re a bit more than I’d like to spend, though, given that I can’t actually play the thing…

On the other hand, I’d long admired, but dismissed for myself, Gibson Les Pauls, despite a number of musicians whose work I like playing them. I remember a friend long ago who said they were extremely heavy, so as a raw beginner I didn’t want to find myself fighting the extra weight of one when I already can’t play. But I went to a couple of punk rock shows in June and some guitarists were playing Les Pauls, including several groups with two guitarists, a Les Paul player next to an SG player and I found myself drawn towards watching the Les Paul player quite a lot more. I mean a lot more.

Looking around online, I sure like the green Slash Anaconda Les Paulis beautiful (and green!). But its price is more than I should actually spend on a guitar I can’t play, no matter how good I think I’d feel holding it and failing to play (I suppose a less expensive Epiphone version is an option). Maybe I could hold it, pretend to play and put on a Guns & Roses CD or something…

Of course, no purchases until my wife goes on her three month trip home to India in a couple of months. I’ll buy whatever I buy on a credit card she doesn’t know about (I’m not talking about screwing around with credit cards, I’ll still pay it off once I get the bill) and my story is basically that I found it/them on Craigslist being sold by “Mrs. Jepsen”. Her husband had passed away and their adult kids weren’t interested in his guitars, so she was selling them… A little more practice and I’ll get the finer points of the story down convincingly…

And bearing in mind our teeny, tiny New York City apartment doesn’t have much space for “stuff” to accumulate… Although, I think if I get more I can buy wall mounts to get them up off the floor so my wife won’t get too mad.

The Bum

What an act!

For a few years I've regularly seen a beggar in a subway station in Brooklyn, sitting on the floor of a busy corridor asking passers-by for cash.  He's a large guy, looks pretty filthy, scruffy beard, hair and what not.  He always has what look like old, ragged jeans cut up and pinned to his pants, like chaps, that I assumed were for extra insulation.  And he has a large, dirty, black plastic garbage bag.

I've given him a dollar or two (which is something I rarely do). 

The past year or so he's often walked around, dragging his plastic garbage bag, talking seemingly nonsense aloud, on the 3 or 4 platforms to get a train going the same direction as me, at the early side of the morning rush hour. 

This morning it was on the 3 platform, there was another ragged guy sleeping on the ground, his backpack as a pillow.  The regular beggar walked by, asking "you alright man?" and the sleeper said he was.  As the regular beggar was right in front of me the other guy said "I'm hungry, I ain't got money, I'm hungry" and they had a conversation about whether he meant it or if it was just bullshit.  Then the regular beggar slid some packaged food along the floor to the sleeper, who sat up but didn't reach for the food.  I heard the regular beggar's voice different than when he's been on the floor begging.

The 3 train came, he got into the last car, I got into the second-to-last car and the train took off...

A couple of stops later, a guy whose face looked remarkably like his walked from the last car to the second-to-last car, continuing to a few seats away from me.  This guy had on nice jeans, carried a fashionable backpack, neat hair and beard.  He dug a large smartphone out of his backpack, and an iPad, and then took out a wad of cash that he counted.  And he was talking the same seemingly nonsense, with the same voice he used to talk to the sleeper on the platform...  I looked through the window to the car behind, and it was empty.

As we prepared to get off the train at Crown Heights - Utica Avenue, the cash counting guy was stuffing everything back into his backpack, and partially pulled out a black plastic garbage bag as he was arranging his stuff, then shoved it back in.

NYC Commuting 90 Minutes Later

After a trip to the emergency room two weeks ago, I followed some of the doctor’s advice about caffeine and “sleep hygiene,”  and now I’m going to work an hour and a half later every day than I had been for the last few years.

New York City is very, very different at 7:30am to 8:30am than it was at 6am to 7am…  So much busier.  So much noisier.  So much more chaos.

At 6am there was only one grocery store on my route with big trucks unloading, at 7:30am there’s business with deliveries all up and down the street between our apartment and the subway.

By 7:30am there are construction crews out blocking the roads and moving big equipment around, so no more just walking across the street once there’s a big enough break in traffic.  Not that there is a big enough break in traffic at 7:30am without a light or construction flagger to stop it, the cars are simply non-stop on the avenues.

Whereas I used to always get a seat on the subway, every time, often the only person on a bench, now I usually have to squeeze in to a crowded train and wait till a mass of people get off at Times Square to quickly grab a seat, feeling guilty because there’s still plenty of people standing up, and worried that I might be taking a seat someone who really needs it more than me could use.

On the 4 train in Brooklyn I used to sit with young 20-something school teachers who work at some schools near my office, a crowd that often grades papers or talks in nice, quiet conversational tones and has manners when we’re all heading to the same exits at the same time.  Now after 8am in Crown Heights, the trains are mostly full of rowdy school kids.

Fortunately, with the doctor-recommended change in sleeping habits, I don’t feel the desperate need to sleep on the train like I used to, so I can close my eyes to relax, but the noise and chaos isn't affecting me as much.

N Train Performance

Well, that was impressive on the N train...  Going over the Manhattan Bridge a young teenage boy got on and loudly announced, "It's Showtime!" and "Last show of the day!" before turning on his boom box to some obnoxious music.

No, he wasn't that good, just clumsily repeating a few moves over and over, dancing and whirling his hat from his knee to his head, head to his toes, under his knee, and an occasional twirl around some of the bars in the train...  I've seen much better performers...

What was impressive is after he finished, he sat down on the bench, not far from where I was standing (I always stand on the train going home, so I don't sleep (yeah, sometimes I do, I doze and my knees buckle and I catch myself halfway down...), otherwise I risk missing my stop, and I'll get even less sleep at night), took the batteries out of his boom box, slid it under his seat, got out his headphones...

And then started counting his cash...

It was a lot of cash.  Several hundred dollars.  Mostly it was $1 bills, but no shortage of $5 bills scattered in there.  He'd reach into his backpack with his right hand, pull out a handful, straighten them out with the ones already in his left hand.  Over and over.  By the end he had a gigantic stack of bills in his left hand that he couldn't actually fold over lengthwise.  Then he curled it into a large, very wide cylinder and wrapped a band around it and stuck it back in his bag.

And the kid wasn't even that good, and the trains weren't even that busy...

Of course, I don't know how much of that he gets to keep, or if he has to pass on a chunk of it to someone else.  When he started his routine, dancing from one end of the car to the other, he stopped and fist-bumped a scruffy looking guy standing at one end, who didn't seem surprised, and in mid-town left his standing spot to sit on the bench one seat away from the kid.  That might well have been his supervisor or someone...

...Hmmm...  Maybe it's time I practice, make some extra cash while I'm already commuting and on the weekends...  :)

Jury Duty in Manhattan

So, I pulled jury duty this month.  I figured it was coming when earlier this year I got a form in the mail to fill out about my qualifications and any recent jury duty I'd served.  So it wasn't a surprise when I got the actual summons.

I was summoned for Thursday, May 16th.  It coincided with the second day of a two day Jewish holiday, Shavuot, for which my company was closed, so I didn't miss any work on Thursday.  Several people at work suggested I tell them it was a religious holiday to postpone it.  However, since I'm not religious and have never celebrated that particular holiday before, it just didn't feel like the right thing to do in my case, so I didn't ask for my one postponement.

Thursday, May 16th

Thursday morning I showed up at 71 Thomas Street at about 8:20am, a little early for my 9am reporting time.  The security guard at the entrance said "we open at 8:45" and when I repeated I was there for jury duty he just said "we open at 8:45".  (however, I'm now looking at the Jury Information Card the court gave us on Friday it says "Jury Assembly Rooms are open at 8:00 am")

I walked around the neighborhood a little, then got back there at about 8:40am to see a line of people standing outside waiting to get in.  After a few minutes they opened the door and we went through the bag x-ray and metal detector security.  The security guards were kind of rude to anyone who slightly slowed the line, yelling "take off your belt!" and "put your things in a tray!"  Then after retrieving stuff and asking directions the bored one at the end just said "read the signs..." like we were imbeciles...

Once inside I found the bathroom then found a seat in the jury assembly room to wait.

Around 9:15am a clerk, William Stevenson, came out to get things started, "I waited a little for the latecomers..."  He was a great clerk.  He said he'd been doing this clerk job since the 80's, but he never seemed to lose sight of the fact that while he knows the process and procedures inside and out, it's not daily work for the rest of us, a few who've had jury duty before and a lot who haven't, so most of us don't know the way around or the details or much about it.  He didn't make me feel stupid or anything for being unsure of what I was doing there or not knowing what to do with particular papers and things.

He started by having us go through parts of our summonses and make sure we were all in the right place on the right day, that our summonses said May 16th, and 71 Thomas Street.  For anyone whose said something different he told them to go to the main courthouse at 60 Center Street to get it cleared up, and that they should hurry over there so they wouldn't have to wait too much longer in line.

He then went over the requirements for jury duty at that court, being a citizen, being over 18 years old, living in Manhattan, Roosevelt Island and some other odd zip code, and not being a convicted felon.  He said if anyone didn't meet those requirements they should leave as quick as possible and go to the main courthouse to clear it up at the administration office.

He covered the jury duty hours, from 9am to 5pm, with a lunch break from 1pm to 2pm.  He said that for those jurors not involved in a trial, if we're in the assembly room he'll get us out at 4:30pm, but if a judge has us in something, then it's out of his hands.

He said the average trial length is seven days, some are longer, some are shorter, but in his experience, they average seven days.

Then he said it was time to get orientation started for everyone else...  He played a 25 minute video, featuring famous news stars going over a bit of the history of our justice system.  It began by showing middle ages style justice of "trial by ordeal" with actors portraying a trial of someone, where it was declared that if he was bound up and tossed in the lake, if he sank he was innocent (not caring if he drowned) and if he floated he was guilty...  Then it led to the changes in justice, including slightly later in England where they had juries, but the juries would be imprisoned if they didn't find those accused to be guilty...  Eventually getting up to our modern system.  It compared real life courtroom trials to TV and movie dramatized ones, explaining what about real trials makes them such compelling sources for drama.

After that he had us line up to give him portions of our jury summons and take a questionnaire to fill out to give to any lawyers who need to interview us in jury selection.  After long enough for most people to have filled those out, Mr. Stevenson picked up the microphone again and pointed some common errors people make, like reading "county" as "country" in one box, and not to write "Manhattan" as the neighborhood, but rather, which actual neighborhood within Manhattan where we live.

And then we waited.  And waited.  And waited...

Periodically Mr. Stevenson would get on the microphone and tell us there aren't yet any trials that need jurors in their building, but that he and another clerk were contacting other New York County courts in the same system.

The normal lunch break is from 1pm to 2pm, but since nothing was happening, he let us go for a longer lunch around 12:30pm and told us to be back by 2:15pm.

Having extra time, I took the A train from Chambers Street up to 42nd Street & 8th Avenue, where the front of the train was closer to 44th Street, so I dashed home.  I surprised Leena by showing up and then had a toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a small Coke for some caffeine.

I left the apartment around 1:35pm and just barely made it back to the jury assembly room by 2:15pm...

Then there was more waiting...

Finally, around 3:15pm one of the other clerks got on the microphone and asked for all the jurors to assemble in the main assembly room, for the ones scattered about, in the lunch room, in the bathrooms and in the side rooms.  And he asked for people to remove their headphones and listen.

He introduced his talk as "we're going to give you all a lesson in civics..."  Then announced that they'd talked to a number of judges and clerks throughout the system and there were no trials going to select juries that afternoon so we were free to leave for the day.  They announced that instead of 9am the next morning we should come at 10am.


Friday, May 17th

I got to the courthouse around 9:30am, a bit early, and went through the security checks to get into the jury assembly room and begin waiting.

Around 10:15am Mr. Stevenson got into the main room and took roll call, cheerfully welcoming every person who responded.  Then said there weren't any trials in that courthouse that yet needed jurors, but to bear with him while he contacted others to see.

Not much happened for about an hour or so, then he got back on the microphone and announced that there was a trial at the main courthouse at 60 Center Street that would need all of us.  He gave repeated directions how to get there, "go out the door, turn right, turn right again and walk forward four blocks," but said not to leave immediately.  He then took another roll call to make sure he knew everyone who was going there, and gave us a yellow card with addresses and details of the courthouses.  He repeated the directions and said that at the end of it he would lead over any of those who weren't familiar with it.

After he called my name I got my yellow card and figured I could follow his directions.  I wasn't alone, I saw others along the route I recognized from the jury room, so I knew I was going the right direction on the four block walk.

Many of us were together again at the security check point at the entrance to this courthouse and then got through and worked our way to the elevators and up to the 4th floor's jury assembly room.

There we waited some more...

After some time a clerk there told us all to follow an officer of the court down to a 3rd floor court room, but not to go inside until the officer said we could.  The officer led us down the steps, but said any could use the elevators if they wanted, and then to the hallway outside the courtroom where we had another wait.

Finally once the court room emptied of other jurors the officer said we could go in, and we filed in, filling up the seats...

The judge introduced the case as a lawsuit about asbestos and could be expected to take around 8 weeks, and then turned it over to the plaintiffs' lawyer to lead the proceedings for us.


In the introduction to the trial the lawyers said they understood it was a long trial and could be a financial hardship on many potential jurors and that neither side would want jurors who might quit part way through or spend their days worrying about finances instead of paying attention.  In addition they said they knew it was summer, when many people make vacation plans that could be affected.

He read off two pages of names of plaintiffs, families, and witnesses they expected to call and said if we knew any of those people we should let them know.  Then he had each of the defense attorneys introduce themselves and their law firms so if we knew of any of them we could let them know.  Then one of them read off two pages of names of companies involved so that if we owned stock in any of those we could let them know.

Then he said we'd take a lunch break.  He also made it clear that the lawyers would see us outside the courtroom but not to take it personally if they didn't greet us or smile at us or acknowledge us in passing.  He said that was part of maintaining the impartiality of the jury system.  They would not interact with us in any way unless lawyers from both sides were present, or the judge.

After lunch I got back inside, stopped by the jury assembly room for a drink of water then waited in the hallway outside the courtroom.  Others from my group of prospective jurors showed up in a steady stream, all waiting outside, most getting on their mobile phones or laptops to kill the time.

A little later the officer of the court opened up the courtroom and we filed in.

The plaintiffs' lawyer again lead the proceedings and said they'd interview us one by one in the judge's chamber that they'd set up.  He suggested just going along the first row starting at the left and working through the room, mostly leaving it up to us to manage.

He also asked that if they let us go we don't go back into the room and tell the crowd what we said to get out of the jury selection.  He said it really happened once that they let one person go because they'd already purchased plane tickets to Australia during the time period of the trial, and then "seven more people all said they had tickets to Australia."

I was in the second bench of the third row, so around #30, give or take a few...  It was a long wait, with some people taking longer for them to interview than others.  Several were sent back out into the courtroom to sit and wait for the judge.  But most were leaving through the stairwell by the judge's chamber.

So, when it was my turn they brought me into the room with a dozen lawyers and asked "what's your conflict?"  I said that I work for a very small company and would only get paid from work for the two weeks of vacation I get this year, and so missing eight weeks of work, getting only the $40 a day, six to eight weeks after the trial, would mean I would not be able to pay my rent and expenses for a month.  The lawyer joked, "you don't want to spend your vacation here with us?  Your next four vacations at that!"  Then he said "alright, you can go..."

Then he gave me my juror ballot to take back up to the jury assembly room to be processed by the clerk.  That took about twenty minutes before she gave me a printout of my proof of jury service.

So, that was that...

I feel a little guilty about getting out of jury duty instead of being eliminated by not meeting their needs. I mean, I know by having financial troubles with the length of the trial I don't meet their needs, but still, it feels to me like I failed to do my duty.

A Spring Saturday in DUMBO & Manhattan

We got off to a bit of a late start today, but headed by subway over to DUMBO to enjoy the Brooklyn Heights Promenade and Brooklyn Bridge Park.

After it was getting closer to dark we got hungry but decided to head back to Manhattan by subway to get a bite to eat at Pier 17.

Then from there we walked all the way home, along the western side of Manhattan.

As always, no captions came through, but they're all in the original album...