When it comes to moving, there’s no shortage of niggling little loose ends that seem to permeate from the furthest and most obscure sources. My own move was no exception to the rule, and no matter how comprehensive and thorough I thought I was being, for weeks and months after departure, there were always letters, notifications, and things showing up to my apartment that were unexpected, that needed to be addressed.
To be fair, there was a surprising amount of money owed back to me from various sources, which was always welcome and pleasing, but there were the usual share of expenditures, final payments, and other nuisances that showed up and had to be dealt with, like good citizens do.
However, one thing that showed up, way later than everything else, was like one final fuck you from Fulton County; everyone’s favorite civil obligation in the world, jury duty. Naturally, this was met with the enthusiasm of having your dick placed on an anvil and beaten down with a hammer, and absolutely minus-fifty parts of me wanted to deal with it.
I lived in Fulton County for 13 years, and was summoned for jury duty six times. Once every eligible two years. Anyone who tells you the selection process is random and unbiased is completely full of shit, because it’s entirely based on demographics, and Asian male property owners in my neck of the woods is an extremely shallow pool that saw my name get drawn at a guaranteed rate every two years, even if I had just managed to unload said property and no longer lived in the county.
