I just make it into the elevator at CCB (that’s the Criminal Courts Building which is now called something else which I refuse to recognize.) The elevator is full of Jurors. I can tell a Juror a mile away. Defendants and their family & friends I know. Lawyers I know. And Jurors I know. The elevator doors, as usual, is having problems. They aren’t closing. They start to close; they get about halfway and then stop and open up. It does this several times. I’m standing a good foot away from the plane of the doors (which I know would prevent them from closing. I’ve been coming to this building for 21 years. It’s a 60’s building which was a piece of shit when it was new – now it’s 50 years later – what can you expect?) I hear a voice coming from just behind me – “Stand back from the door!” Is he talking to me? I’m a good foot away. And then the next time the doors refuse to close, his voice becomes louder and more authoritative: “Stand back, you’re not letting the door close!” Who are you talking to? Time slows extravagantly every time the doors start to close and then jar open. By this time, the rest of the population of the elevator – the Jurors – join in. “Would you get away from the door!” In my comedy act I say about Jurors: “They come to my building and don’t know how to work the elevators and they’re the Deciders?” I’m trying to maintain my cool. I’m watching my reflection in the door and my face is definitely turning red. Are any of these assholes in my jury? Wait a second – I’m not in trial. I turn around and face this mob. “I ride these fucking elevators every fucking day, assholes. They just do that.“ Okay I didn’t actually say “fucking”. The guy that started it all looks just like a retired plumber or Cop. There’s no response from anybody. It’s like everyone is in a state of shock. And then, miraculously, the doors close successfully and we all ride up, in total silence. Not another word or look is exchanged. I get off at the 13th floor and go to the attorney’s lounge. Fucking jurors.
