I am not a number. I am a free man!

I got summoned for jury duty. It comes in an envelope with "Official Jury Duty Summons" printed on the outside in big block letters. As if knowing that your mail carrier saw it is going to pressure you into serving. My motivation was less civic duty and more the shitstorm I call my job. A month ago, the prospect of getting out of work for a few days--even for jury duty--seemed like a positive.

How wrong I was.

So, the first day everybody's there at 8:30 and we're all herded into an auditorium-type room with nowhere near enough seats. Some high-ranking court official came out and gave a pep talk that was all "it's not like Law & Order... this is your civic duty... no one's too important to serve". The main thing that I remember was that at one point he compared jury duty to the draft; when I got the summons, my first instinct was to burn it up. Then there was an instructional video that reiterated his points (minus the draft thing). A person from the Blood Center came out and attempted to guilt us all in to giving blood while waiting to be called. Guh. I think it's a cool program, but pictures of sick children who will be receiving my life-giving blood will not motivate me.

And then you wait. Forever.

If you ever show up for jury duty, bring a book, a laptop,MP3 player, homework, work work, portable DVD player, mildly offensive cross-stitch project. Something to keep you occupied while you wait. The waiting game is particularly inspired on the court's part. By the time they call your name, you're actually relieved that there's something to break the monotony. The prospect of entering a courtroom and watching stuff is appealing. That feeling wears of just as you're taking a seat in the jury box.

If you were unfortunate enough to get a low number (juror #5, bitches!), there is a very good chance that you will get picked. People will tell you all sorts of outlandish things to do to get kicked off of a jury; say you're racist, tell the judge you hear voices, dress like a hobo, commit a felony. While some or all of these may work, there's no reason to get all weird and lie--unless you are a racist schizophrenic hobo felon. You can read the complete works of the Marquis de Sade or blast NWA's Fuck tha Police from your MP3 player all you want, but unless you're doing it in front of the judge it's not going to affect your chances of serving.

Based on the first jury I was dismissed from, there are some things that will get you tossed from the jury:

1. Know somebody else on the jury. They take the "don't talk about the case outside of the deliberation room" thing very seriously. It could be a coworker you don't actually know or a former neighbor you haven't seen in 15 years; if they think there's a chance you'll be gabbing about the case over lunch you're out of there.
2. Have something that could make you identify with one side. I'm not talking about race or gender, although I'm assuming that comes in to play. If things in your life that you've seen or done or had done to you could make you sympathetic to the plaintiff or defendant, you're out. It's called bias, people, exploit it. Don't want to serve on the armed robbery trial? Tell the judge about the time you were mugged walking home. Or that your BFF is a police officer. Or that you work the night shift at a gas station. You can swear up and down on a stack of bibles that it won't affect your judgement, but you won't have to stick around for opening statements.
   
3. Have a job that you'll keep on doing. This was actually my out on the two juries I was thrown in to. It's unlikely that you'll be sequestered, and the court can't tell you what to do once you're dismissed for the day. The DA asked if anyone worked third shift during the trial. I took that opportunity to tell them that, if picked, I would probably be going in to work for at least a half day after court every day of the trial. This was 99% true, and the suggestion that I wouldn't be devoting every waking our to their trial of utmost importance was enough to get me kicked off the jury.
4. Get a high juror number. It seems that they just go down the line and take the first 14 that aren't totally egregious. If you're juror #28, you probably don't have to do a goddamn thing but wait it out.

Of course, not getting picked for one jury doesn't mean you're home free. After getting booted from the first jury I was in the hostage room for all of 5 minutes before getting called for the second one. When I weaseled my way out of that one, I was told to come back the next day. Shit.

The second day jury pool was made up of left over non-picked jurors from the first day with no reinforcements. Anyone still not picked by lunch was allowed to go home, but I was left wondering if I shouldn't have just followed the advice of a certain saucy puppet show.

Hope over fear

On my last trip to Mitsuwa, I took a stroll down the "refrigerated/frozen fish product with packaging that's mostly or only in Japanese" aisle. Maybe I was giddy at the prospect of taking home a kabocha to roast; maybe it was a shopper's high from the morning trip to IKEA; or, maybe it was just that deep-seated sense of masochism that drives me to do awful things to myself. Whatever the reason, I bought fish sausage.

I recalled seeing them on Elyse Sewell's livejournal, but couldn't remember her comments. I most likely disregarded whatever it was, thinking, "bwah, I'll never be in a position to eat fish sausage." If only I had known.

Those pink things in the picture there? Those are the sausages. I didn't realize that when I bought them. For some reason, I thought those were some sort of flower garnish. That doesn't really make sense, but then again, neither does fish sausage.



Aside from the heating (not cooking, mind you) instructions, the thing that really struck me about this instructional business is the nonchalant notice there there's skin fragments in these things. I've purposely eaten fish skin before (yes, Mr. Sushi Chef, I would like some crispy salmon skin), but for some reason it weirded me out in this context.







The package seems so enthusiastic about the different ways of utilizing Fish Sausage! I feel obligated to eat one cold straight from the package. With four sausages in the package and five serving suggestions, one method will have to go un-utilized. That's assuming that I can manage to choke down four of these things.







So, after a month in my fridge, I finally decided to crack these bad boys open. About the size of an army-grade glowstick, they don't seem so tough.

And then you crack it open. I wouldn't call them pungent, but when you get in close there's a distinct smoked fish scent. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of smoked fish. Not just hoity toity smoked salmon (or lox or gravlax). I eat canned kippers for dinner sometimes. A common childhood snack was a head-still-attached smoked chubs that my dad would bring home from the store. I'm not a-feared of the fish.


Of course, grinding up that fish and putting it in "sausage" form is a whole other thing. Sweet Jebus. It had the texture of a hot dog without the casing. Kind of soft; slightly gelatinous. I'll be honest: it squicked me out.

I almost feel like I could eat these. While following the suggested cooking suggestions might improve on the texture, I feel like the flavour couldn't really be helped. It was as if someone combined smoked fish and hot dog, and then made it sort of bland.

A review of Elyse's post suggests that she feels similarly, although her's is an ambivalent appreciation. I suspect if I had access to garlic chili flavoured fish sausage with adorable cartoon crabs, I too would learn to love fish sausage. Or maybe I'd still find it weird.

I plan on using the remaining three sausages; cooking, frying, grilling in an attempt to make this thing somewhat palatable to me.