More Love, Less Lunch

This Monday I had jury duty in Philadelphia. I promise my story won’t be as good as Sam’s, but it does involve weather incompetence, civic theater, and a sandwich incident.

Jury duty was delayed two hours due to weather, which apparently didn’t reach about 50 people who still showed up at 8 a.m. anyway. The court claimed notifications went out. I got mine by email, and when I called—hoping I was somehow excused—the automated system confirmed the delay. This felt like an early screening of the people most likely to serve on a jury.

I entered a large auditorium and took a seat with zero spacing, directly next to another human, as tradition demands. We filled out a short questionnaire about who we are and whether we’re prejudiced. One question stands out: do you believe a police officer more than a civilian? The unspoken rule is that if you’d like to serve, the answer is no.

We were assigned juror numbers and judges, lined up accordingly, and shuffled into the courtroom for a few more qualifying questions. By 1 p.m., everyone agreed the best use of our time was lunch.

I went to Reading Terminal and got a roast pork from DiNic’s. I asked for American cheese; they only serve Cooper Sharp, which is a brilliant way to reduce customer decision-making. There was no line, which attests to limiting options. Seating, as always, was impossible, so I ate outside.

Within one minute, a homeless guy asked me for my sandwich. I said I was just trying to eat lunch. He replied, “I’m just trying to eat lunch. More love, less hate.” A bold rhetorical move from someone asking for my food.

I ate about three-quarters of the sandwich and gave him the rest. He then asked for my Coke. I don’t usually finish soda, but the audacity annoyed me enough that I dumped it down the drain instead. Petty? Yes. Satisfying? Also yes. If you’re in that part of the city, assume everything you possess is negotiable.

Back at the courthouse, they pulled me and about 25 others into a juror room. One by one, we were questioned by the judge and lawyers. They asked how long I’d lived in Northern Liberties and whether I’d graduated college. No follow-up questions. Two minutes later, I was dismissed.

The case was incestual pedophilia. Even though I claimed I could be impartial, the defense made the wise decision not to put that to the test. I would not have been their guy.

Overall, the process was slow but oddly efficient, like the DMV with better architecture. I mostly kept to myself, chatted briefly with the woman next to me, and experienced mild anxiety when wondering if the accused was going to slit my throat in my sleep if I convicted him.