Last week one of my more soft-spoken co-workers popped into my cube, lowered her voice and said, “Beth, I need to ask you a question and I need you to take it seriously.” My curiosity was piqued; this isn’t someone who would normally seek me out for advice. I mean, I sit over here, she sits over there and there’s all of that distance between us. I worried that this was possibly something I couldn’t and maybe shouldn’t handle. I mean, I am the token blonde among my friends and when forced into being overly serious, my mind tends to flit about in protest and I develop fuzzy animal Tourette’s. “Your marriage is in shambles and you need my advice? FLUFFY BUNNY BEAGLE EARS!! Sorry. You were saying?”
“Beth, I need you to promise me you’ll take this seriously.”
I leaned in a little closer and adopted my version of the serious and concerned face. I threw in some forehead wrinkles just for show. “Of course.”
“Beth, I was speaking to Lillian and she said that you helped her get out of jury duty.”
“I did?” I was confused, I really couldn’t recall ever doing this or even claiming I could do this.
“Yes. Beth, she said you did a dance.”
“What?” Now I was surprised. It’s not that I doubted her word. I mean it completely sounds like me, but I couldn’t recall the specifics. Heck, I’d do a pratfall for a laugh under the right circumstances so a dance wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities.
“Beth, I’m serious. I need you to do your dance. I don’t want to go to jury duty. Will you do the same dance you did for Lillian for me?”
She had absolute faith in my abilities and I did my best not to let her down by trying to imagine what ridiculous movements I previously made to drive off a jury summons (or get laughs) – nothing specific came to mind, so I was left improvising a goofy chair wiggle dance. I waved my arms about in the air, shook my tush, threw my head around and then declared, “that’s the dance”.
She was impressed and a little awed (as you would be, if I cornered you and your fight-or-flight instinct didn’t kick-in fast enough). “Beth, thank you sooooo much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’ll let you know what happens.”
This encounter stressed me out a bit, because she was actually placing a great deal of faith in my antics. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say when this blew up in my face and she was selected to be a juror. “Shoot, I forgot I needed to stand up.” “Shoot, you asked on a Tuesday. This never works on a Tuesday.”
The following week I received the update, “Beth, I called the courthouse and they said I didn’t have to show-up. They’ve already selected the jury and they’ve released me. I can’t thank you enough. Your dance worked just like Lillian said it would. I’m going to call her and thank her for sending me to you.”
What I’ve taken away from this is either I have the potential to be a charismatic cult leader or I may actually have magical dance powers that impact our judicial system. I should probably use these powers for evil. I mean good. Crazy typos. (Note to karma: I appreciate your humor and accept that I am going to be sequestered for a year.)
I loved this post. I think you need to record your Jury Dance for You Tube so that we can all benefit!
Thank you!! And I may have to avoid recording this dance; it’s quite powerful thanks to the effects it has on our legal system. I couldn’t be responsible for what would happen if it were in the public domain. Our whole legal system could shut down! Plus, I would probably get carted away to spend quality alone time in a padded room wearing a jacket that forced me to hug myself tightly. That would interfere with my cult leadership aspirations.
(I’m still quite amazed that someone actually believed my dancing could free them up from jury duty. I know my tap teacher would be so proud that all those years in her class weren’t wasted.)
I believe your dancing can do many wonderful things! Enjoyed this post bunches and actually lawl’d … Schereeoushly!
As one who loves and is impressed by result-oriented dancing, I would join your cult if it meant you would perform rain dances this summer to break the drought. You could do it to that Counting Crows song where he wails, “I am the rain man!” I believe! I believe! I love this post.
I’ve tried the rain dance (one of the guys I work with asked me to take his hands and do a rain dance without him outside the building one day – I’m a sucker for a dance), but either the drought is too strong or my powers only extend to the jury selection process. Still, I love that you’ll join my cult and as the first to sign up, you’ll clearly meant to be one of my top cult lieutenants! Can I put you in charge of music and inspiration?
Let’s all dance! Really funny – who knows what drives that fickle finger of fate selecting jurors!
I tell ya, it’s partially due to a little butt wiggling in a bland cubicle farm somewhere in Texas! I wonder if I could add that to a Wiki article and cite this page as proof! 🙂
[…] The Jury Dance Follow Blog via Email […]
[…] The Jury Dance […]