Desktop Dynamo

A few weeks back, I got a notice to report to jury duty. I was summoned just a year or so ago for county court. This time around, it was the United Stated District Court, Middle District of Pennsylvania.

If you recall my last adventure as a potential juror, the county folks pretty much heaved me over the side when they realized I couldn't hear the dinner bell.

This time I wanted to avoid reporting at all. I detailed my hearing impairment on the form and sent it back to the court, hoping to be "excused."

I like that word...excused.

Sort of sounds like asking to get up from the dinner table, doesn't it? "...Yer honor, may I be excused?"

It also reminds me of asking permission to pee in elementary school: "...Please, ma'am, dear Lord, please...may I be excused? I can't keep my legs crossed much longer!"

I was mildly annoyed to learn that I wouldn't be notified by mail. I had to call a telephone number and deal with an automated phone system to learn my fate. Worse, I had to call after 5:15 P.M. on a Friday (when all civil servants are fleeing their desks at nearly the speed of light).

Here I was, asking to be "excused" because of a hearing impairment, and I could only find out if I was off the hook by making a phone call I couldn't possibly hear.

Our tax dollars at work, folks.

I recruited my wife to call for me this past Friday and get the low-down. She navigated the triple-damned automated system, hung up, and said: "You've been disqualified."

Huh?

Not "excused."

Disqualified.

My, what a nasty ring that had to it! Steroid-engorged baseball players are "disqualified," not geeks with defective ears. I felt like I'd been accused of sharing needles with Jose Canseco, or getting "B-12" shots with Roger Clemens.

Disqualified.

I feel like a felon. If you don't mind...I'd like to be excused. I need to drown my sorrows in a bowl of chicken wings...