New York Shitty Day Ender: Home Sweet Home!

Nothing says “welcome home” from spending a day at the Eastern District Federal Courthouse in downtown Brooklyn (so as to be selected for jury duty) quite like exiting the India Street stop of the East River Ferry to find a feral feline (or two). For those of you who are not in the know (and I met quite a few today), the Eastern District Federal Court system has a rather interesting set of jurisdictions. They are, to my understanding, as follows:

• Nassau, Suffolk, Queens, Kings and Richmond County (Staten Island) constitute one.
• Bronx and Manhattan constitute another.

This arrangement can lead to hilarious results. In my case: getting a notice informing me I was “on call” to show up at the Eastern District courthouse at Central Islip on less than 12 hours notice. This is the daily commute I was expected to make each and every day I was to show up per the Federales:

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Those of you who live in Greenpoint, are registered voters and rely upon public transportation take note: if you get such a notice (and trying to get Greenpointers to go to Central Islip seems to be common) read the jury information pamphlet contained therein. It states that if you have over a “75-90” minute commute in each direction you can claim a transportation hardship deferment and serve at the Eastern District Court in Downtown Brooklyn instead.

My advice: simply write a few lines stating your transportation hardship and accompany it with a couple of Google maps which ilustrate how long your commute will take (which will most assuredly be over 90 minutes). It works. As I told a woman who schlepped in from Central Islip today much to her chagrin.

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And if/when you are called to serve at Eastern District Federal Courthouse in Brooklyn (as I had to today*), Greenpointers, do yourself a favor: take the East River Ferry. The Feds have a Zip Code system by which they compensate for commuting expenditures. 11222 nets us $2.87 for each leg of our commute. The ferry costs $4.00 each way, but the irritation/confusion factor easily override the extra dollars and cents. Trust me.

In closing (and on a somewhat related note) I received an email from the caretaker of the feral colony at the India Street Pier, a very nice lady named Tori. It reads as follows:

Positions open, volunteer: feral cat colony feeders and maintenance staff. Summer months to start. Be a part of a team of caretakers who feed and water stable colony of cats near Franklin and India Streets. Involves sourcing food for seven cats, supplying fresh water, waiting while they eat (about 20 minutes) and cleaning area. Not that much investment, considering rewards of helping these particularly friendly and charming homeless animals. All neutered. Morning or evening shifts available–(colonycaretakers@gmail.com)

*Lest you are wondering, I was not “picked” today (However a fellow whose snoring was so loud during “orientation” he had to be awakened several times was. Go figure). But being “on call” entails you call an 800 number after 5:00 p.m. for ten consecutive business days. Plan accordingly. READ: pack a good lunch— or you might end up damned near losing yours.

CASE IN POINT: during my lunch hour and 45 minutes (and after eating a really greasy grilled cheese sandwich) I witnessed a scene at Metrotech Center than even left me speechless: a 20-something woman sitting atop the lap of a 20-something man. While he was gently caressing her ass she was rather aggressively trying to pop a pimple on his face. I cannot tell a lie: this made me barf a little in my throat. That’s LOVE gentle readers!