I received this notification in the mail:

It’s almost like clockwork. Every two to three years since I’ve been living in Philadelphia I receive a jury duty notice.

I’ve actually been selected to serve on five occasions, all of which I’ve written about (although the first one, a murder trial that lasted nearly a month, I haven’t yet gotten around to putting online), and in general I’ve found serving on a jury to be a rewarding experience. Unlike many people, I actually like jury duty.

Or perhaps that should be the past tense.

I feel that I’ve done my time.

And while I think I’d be more than willing to serve on another jury or two, I don’t feel like going through the whole rigamarole of sitting in the crowded jury basement and watching the introductory video and waiting to be called for a panel, etc.

If I could just go to the Criminal Justice Center and get right to a courtroom and be part of a 40 person jury pool, well, then I think I’d be game.

Otherwise, it’s just a nuisance at this point in my life.

Happily, I have an easy out.

As I turned 75 at my last birthday, that’s the escape clause that I’m going to invoke.

Aging hath it’s privileges.