Follow Me, Boys

(May 18, 2006)

I had jury duty today. Is it a sign that I'm much too burnt out on work that I was actually looking forward to jury duty? It's been INSANE at work, ten and twelve hour days and non-stop from start to finish, every single day. I'm the only one who knows how to do most of the things I do, so finding any days-off is impossible. "Excellent," I was thinking on Tuesday night, "tomorrow I can just sit and read my book ALL DAY."

It never occurs to me that I could be selected to hear a case, because I've never been selected. And I didn't get selected this time either.

It was a bit of a hurdle finding the Suffolk County Courthouse though. Since I have the same sense of direction as a drunk and blindfolded toddler, I always leave time to get lost. It's an 8am start, so I left the apartment at 7:15. Figured I'd take the B train to Park Street, because on Mapquest that looked close to the courthouse. I mean, The Orpheum is right by the Park Street stop (hadn't been there in a couple years and coincidentally we were just there seeing HUMANWINE and Dresden Dolls) and on the map the courthouse seemed to be a few blocks away. It looked like I'd just pop up Beacon to Tremont and turn into School Street. From there it should just be a matter of looking up and seeing a courthouse, which would be, I'd imagined, hard to miss.

But then, this is a typical Boston city planner prank: This city thinks it's knee-slappingly hilarious to omit street signs and other such things that actually signal direction and pinpoint location. So, Boston people, if you have consulted your jury duty notice and are looking for "Three Pemberton Square," the supposed address of the courthouse, you may as well be looking for a lightly grilled weasel on the Starbucks menu.

Nothing over there says "Pemberton" anything. (I did find the sign saying Scollay Square, which was fun because I'd just written an article on burlesque, which used to be a major draw to Scollay Square.)

As I stood at the corner of Beacon and Tremont I knew that the courthouse had to be straight and to the left. As I headed confidently in that direction, an official-looking guy in a suit with a badge stepped forth from a doorway and said, "Jury duty?" to me.

"Yes!" I replied.

"Follow that guy," he said, pointing to a young bushy-haired man with a blue backpack who was about a block off. Clearly, another member of today's jury pool. This Good Samaritan is obviously some courthouse-related security doorman who can spot a lost juror a mile off. We do share a similar countenance: holding a small white square of paper up to our noses, walking slowly and looking up at street signs and building facades for the words "Pemberton" or "courthouse."

By the time I reached the spot my fellow juror had been when the badged guy said to follow him, the juror guy was way WAY at the end of the street. I stopped walking. "THAT is much too far." Then I saw the guy falter, turn around a few times, start off to his right, then stop a stranger. "Oh yeah, sure. I ain't following THAT guy, he's clearly fucking lost. The courthouse HAS to be...here, actually."

I look to my right and see a big open area that could rightly be described as a "square," though still, nothing says Pemberton. I walk into it anyway and, sure enough, dominating the square is a very courthouse-y white building with SUFFOLK COUNTY etched across its facade.

Found it. With ten minutes to spare.

I looked around for anything that said "Three Pemberton" just because it is SO ANNOYING that an address would be given, one that is supposed to get you there on time, that links to nothing in reality. But I saw nothing that said Pemberton. All I saw was that bushy haired guy with the blue backpack running up to me saying "Jury duty? That guy said to follow you."

Sure, follow me.