Ah, the inevitable, a notice for jury duty. Like death, they never come at a good time. This one’s for my husband.

“I’ll just tell them I work online and they’ll excuse me,” he says practically ripping the notice in half.

“No. Wait,” I warn, “That won’t fly.” Sometimes, you can’t get an excuse even if you’re elderly, a breastfeeding mother, or a soldier unless you’re at war overseas. And in that case, you can only get a postponement. 

Take it from an expert. Well, a six-degrees-of-separation expert. I once shared a flat with a gal who made it her life’s aim to get out of jury duty legally. Her name was Catherine. She was an unemployed artist; someone with absolutely no time to serve.

Catherine’s advice: Always write back and make sure your letter begins with something about how honored and excited you are to finally have the opportunity to serve. Here’s what Catherine wrote in her very first letter to the Manhattan Jury Manager:

Dear Jury Manager:

I’m in receipt of your letter and honored that you have asked me to serve on your jury. I am ready to report and totally available. One question: I am legally blind. Does that matter? Will there be any evidence that someone might hold up that I might have to see? If not, I would be very happy to serve. Looking forward to hearing from you.

Best, 

Catherine

Catherine promptly received a return letter telling her she was excused for the next seven years. As if, in that time, her eyesight would improve.

I explain to the husband that anyone who is asked to sit on a jury will be expected to miss work. “But you can claim undue hardship,” I add, “I don’t know if you have to somehow prove it though.”

Seven years later, Catherine was called to serve again and in response wrote:

Dear Jury Manager:

Thanks so much for your letter. I look forward to serving. I have one question though: Due to a recent back injury, I can no longer sit in one place for more than, say, 20-30 minutes. Would it be OK if I walked the parameter of the courtroom every half hour or so? If I can’t do that, I might occasionally scream out in pain. Also while walking, I’ll need to do some yoga stretches. I look forward to hearing from you.

Best, 

Catherine

With this letter, she enclosed an old, barely visible x-ray of her spine (or someone else’s spine) figuring there’d be no doctor at the courthouse evaluating medical excuses. And she was right. Catherine was excused for another seven years and recently told me that she’s now too old to serve. She never served. 

Back in the day, when I got a notice, I’d set the alarm to an ungodly hour, get up and dressed and then take the A train downtown, way downtown, courthouse downtown, waterfront downtown; an area I was so unfamiliar with. And then I’d wait for what seemed like hours to be interviewed. 

When no one got around to speaking with me, I’d have to repeat the same ritual several days in a row for multiple interviews by different lawyers. Ultimately, I blame my lack of service on my hair. 

With the help of Dippity-Do, a greasy gel that stiffened even the wispiest strands; my hair, sometimes fire engine red, sometimes blue-black like a cartoon character, and one time a bad shade of green, but mostly platinum blonde, rose from the top of my head in wide Samurai blades. It wasn’t intentional; I played in a punk band. One lawyer even asked me to remove the piece of “mink” I had in my hair, which of course I could not do since it was all my hair. 

Jury selection almost embraced me as a two-toned blonde, but the spikes argued troublemaker and scared them off indefinitely. As for my bald husband, he finally and dutifully filled in the questionnaire. We’ll see what happens next.

RAMONA JAN is the Founder and Director of Yarnslingers, a storytelling group that tells tales both fantastic and true. She is also the roving historian for Callicoon, NY and is often seen giving tours around town. You can email her at callicoonwalkingtours@gmail.com.