District Twelve

The day started out with a glorious sunrise. But things went downhill fast. I had to wait for a long train on the tracks "where there's always a train when you're in a hurry." Then several instances of gridlock on the interstate, a self-imposed detour, several wrong turns, a quick stop at Ken Boyer bail bonds (to ask for directions because I figured, who better to ask for directions to the court house??) unbelievable traffic downtown, searching for a parking place through seven layers of a parking garage.

But wait, it gets better. I'm late, I know I'm late but I soon realize I am not the only one who is late. I discover several comrades on the elevator down and we huddle together in the elevator that stops..on..every..floor to admit more miserable souls. I trip gaily across the street to join the lines of people emptying their pockets and taking off their belts. And I am red-flagged, pulled out of the line. Apparently the x-ray machine had detected my pink-handled kiddie scissors that I had inadvertently left in my tote bag. Yep. He was not going to let me take my little pink plastic kindergarten scissors up to the courtroom, so I dug through my tote bag and found the offending scissors and handed them to the smiling guard, who asked me if I was sure I didn't want to take them back out to my car. Nope. You keep 'em.

Packed like sardines in another elevator that took us up to the courtroom, I realized I had committed the unpardonable sin. I had left my jury summons paper in my car. The jury in the elevator was divided in their opinion as to whether I would actually need it or not. Turns out I most definitely did need it...and "hurry, honey," said the gal directing the juror traffic. Down the elevator to exit the building and back across the street. The elevator actually zoomed up to the seventh floor, with the no stops. (first positive thing since the sunrise) In my zeal and impatience to get back where I belonged, I took the stairs down after the elevator didn't appear right away. Seven flights of stairs--on foot.. I am not kidding here and if the adrenaline hadn't got my heart pumping, well, the exercise really jump started my heart. By the time I made it through security--sans scissors--and got back up to the jury room there were at least twenty other poor souls who were as late as me. We all faced the same problem, no place to sit. I won't bore you with the remarks and stand-up comedy of the guy giving the announcements. Truth be told, I wasn't paying a whole lot of attention as I was trying to figure out how to get a seat:  I considered yelling fire, turning off the lights (wait, that really did happen) (but not because of me), grabbing somebody's seat when the (former) occupant was taking a bathroom break, spilling coffee on someone...oh the possibilities were endless.

Finally the "All rise" call came (a bit ironic for me since I was already standing) and a black robed judge entered and gave us a short lecture on the legal system and a bit of a heads-up on what to expect. Then the court clerk had his turn at stand-up comedy. He was lucky in that he had a captive audience and we didn't have any rotten eggs or soft tomatoes available in our time of need.

Some time during the process of standing around, waiting for someone to do something or to finish his patriotic spiel about doing one's civic duty, I noticed someone I knew:  Mark the Carpet Man Taylor (not his real name) (duh). Excitedly I waved and jumped up and down while he maintained his dignified demeanor with a manly nod. We finally got down to business and the first names were called and they drifted out the door to an unknown fate. Conveniently, the person who occupied the seat beside Mark was called and I made my way over there. And from then on it was the Seventy-fifth Annual Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor. And for the first three calls, they were in our favor--until...lunch time. Then the odds of four hundred some people needing to find something to eat in Panem, err, downtown OKC, became frighteningly unfavorable.

We hiked through the canyons and caverns of Panem, err downtown OKC, to the friendly Subway store for lunch. The place was packed but everyone behaved civilly, much to my relief. I had visions of hunger-crazed citizens leaping over the counter to grab all the meat and cheese they could stuff in their briefcases or backpacks before racing off into the streets of Panem, err downtown OKC.

Did you know that guys in the carpet business have a sixth sense that allows them to instantly spot each other across a crowded room? Or it might have had something to do with the fact that Mark was wearing a tee shirt with the name of a carpet distributor or something. Anyway, if you've never had lunch with two carpet guys, you have literally never lived. And, after lunch, through security--again  sans scissors--(it goes alot quicker when you don't have kiddie scissors tucked deep in the bowels of your tote bag--did I mention how I literally had to take everything out of my bag because I couldn't find the scissors that they insisted were in my bag and they had to come out? Some terrorist I would be, brandishing my pink plastic handled kiddie scissors after seven minutes of digging in my bag to even find them. Apparently, this was a traumatic incident for me. Alas, as usual, I digress.)

Another interminable period of waiting for the next list of tributes to be called out. Me, being the obliging chick that I am, agreed to take Mark's place should his name be called. I would like you to see the picture in  your mind...the clerk, calling out the name:  Mark, alias  "Trim Carpetclean" and me, alias "Karniss Malarkey", heroically and dramatically proclaiming "I volunteer as tribute," while several brave souls in the audience softly whistle the Mockingjay theme.

Well, sadly, it didn't happen that way, or any way, in fact, and neither of us or even our new friend, the liberal carpet dude (yeah, at lunch he forgot to mention a few key points of his theology) (but we gave him grace and tried to straighten him out a little and by the end of the day, he and Mark had exchanged business cards)... anyway, none of us got called.

You may think this is the end of the story, well, no. I pretty much got hopelessly lost in the parking garage, when all I wanted to do was get home. In my defense, it was poorly lit and the signs were confusing and people were honking and "waving" at me and I got flustered. Going up when I should have been going down, going left when I should have been going right. As usual.

(Katniss never had this problem...)