The usual gang is there: an overdue cable bill, a few grocery circulars, a brightly colored delivery menu from the new Super Golden Happy Dragon Wok, and a shady credit card offer.
Then you see it. A nondescript white envelope with a bit of text peeking through the elongated, plastic address window. It reads "SUMMONS" in red, bold, and underlined authoritarian type. What do you do?
You freak your shit out, of course. Why? Because you didn't see the cool, calming blue box beneath judicial threat word. Had you read that box, you would've noticed that you are merely being summoned for jury duty.
After you catch your breath and determine that you are not, in fact, getting sued out of the blue, you notice your juror number. Congratulations. Registering to vote just bit you in the ass. So now what do you do?
You exclaim, "Shit! They found me!"
You can substitute any profane word you like. It won't change the situation, but it will make you feel better.
Though it probably varies across the states, you will quickly come to realize that you will have a mere 10 days to complete this juror survey and send it back in the pre-paid, pre-addressed return envelope. Here's to hoping that you haven't been on safari in Zimbabwe for a month. Or that you check your mail in a timely fashion. I, for one, don't.
You'll want to get crackin' too, because ignoring one of these babies could come back in the form of a warrant for arrest. Being on a jury is a civic duty, after all, and qualified citizens are required to serve. Read it once. Read it twice. Curse loudly. Go ahead.
That is, after all, what step one is all about: coming to terms with it. And swearing a lot, if necessary.
After a bit of shouting you'll realize that sitting in on a trail is a hell of a lot better than being held in contempt of court. Or having a state trooper show up at your house and "escort" you to the courthouse to "perform your duties."