{duty & pain & guilt}

so I had jury duty yesterday and madness ensued. more on that in a minute.

first, if you're in NYC, I'd love to see your shining face at this show tomorrow night -- the band is awesome, and I will be... me. :)

Thursday, November 3

live show WITH A BAND!

John Condron & The Benefit, a fantastic rock n roll trio, bookend a full feature set by Marty McConnell - backed by the band - with their own brand of Chicago rock.

10 p.m.
Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery, between Bleecker & Houston
www.bowerypoetry.com
$5

... and now for the story. so I had jury duty yesterday. as I'd already postponed once, I fully intended to serve out my time. I was a little worried because I do have to travel to Chicago next week, and no one will guarantee you that you won't get stuck on a huge jury, but on I went regardless.

I dutifully pack books -- Tyehimba Jess' "Leadbelly," a book on the intersection of photography and written language, and Pedagogy of the Oppressed -- and a notebook and three pens. Granola bars, cell phone charged, chapstick.

Leaving the house, I realize that the likelihood of getting tea in the courthouse is minimal, and the chances of my making through the morning awake and uncranky without tea is virtually nonexistent. Tada! in the cabinet, a thermos I never carry. heat water, insert bag, and off to the G train.

on the train, I get a seat! yay! nearly there, we stop. a train ahead of us in the station. drat. but, I have time for a spot of tea. fabulous! open thermos, push in top thingy, sip and EXCRUCIATING PAIN as the seal around the top leaks massively and SEARING HOT WATER/TEA pours down lip and chin. I resist the urge to fling the thermos through the closing doors, and off we move.

as I exit at Hoyt/Schermerhorn, I am not sure if I am a spineless wimp with no pain threshold OR if I should find an emergency room, pronto. I do know that I am in capital-P pain, and my FACE is involved. I spy a Duane Reade, and figuring that pharmacists have to have SOME training in the medical field and I am at a loss for what to do otherwise, I go to the counter and say Hi. um, I sort of, burned myself, with hot water, well, tea, on the train. should I, is there something I should get for this? pointing to my red, swollen, lip and chin.

and the pharmacist barely glances at me and recommends Bacitracin. since he didn't scream GOOD LORD GET TO AN EMERGENCY ROOM WOMAN, I buy it and stumble back onto the sidewalk, go to court.

once there, I am in moster pain still and can't reach Roger on the phone so that he can tell me not to be stupid and to postpone and come home. so I go in through security, take the forms, sit down and try not to scream or weep. I get up, ask the surly AND taciturn security guard if there is somewhere I can get some ice. he says no. go downstairs and postpone.

I go downstairs, stand in another line, pray to get the nice-looking lady at the end of the counter and not the IRS/DMV/postal service-attitude-energy people in all the other slots. and success, I do get the nice lady, she does offer to postpone me, I explain that I'd really like to get this over with if I could just get some ice, she concurs, she disappears into the back and returns with a latex glove full of ice, and sends me on my way. I am SURE I'm her story over dinner that night. whatever.

I return to the waiting room. fortunately it is New York City and while I'm sure people notice the woman holding the leaky glove of ice to her lower face, no one comments aloud or tries to offer the useless solace of powerless strangers.

I make it about an hour but at this point the ice has melted and it has been made abundantly clear to me and to all of us that we will be in this room until at LEAST 5 p.m. today and tomorrow, and I just can't imagine asking the woman in the postponement office for a new glove of ice every hour on the hour, or making it through the day without being able to read or write because I am holding A MELTING GLOVE OF ICE to my face.

so I postpone. fabulous. HUGE waste of a morning. go home, switch to a gallon ziploc of ice, look sadly at Roger until he leaves to teach, nap, and then go to work. trust me on this, there is NOTHING like sitting in a meeting with a frozen bottle of Poland Springs on one's face to up one's reputation as a professional.

so here I am, day two of the facial burn, and it's gross but I'm dealing and I keep saying it could be worse because it so absolutely could be and this confirms my previously existing belief that should I ever be burned over more than 70% of my body -- and we may ratchet this down to 60% now -- KILL ME. KILL ME OR I WILL FIND A WAY TO DO IT MYSELF AND HAUNT YOU.

OK, that's enough of that. expect burn references in the next few poems. gross.

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