I've been in Vegas over five years, so I guess it's about time I got called to jury duty, but I didn't anticipate that I'd get called to the county courthouse in Mesquite, eighty miles out by the Arizona border (while driving around the city streets, I took a wrong turn and ended up crossing the border). But out in small-town Nevada they still need jurors, and we don't have a Zone of Death were you can commit the perfect crime.
The court staff were friendly and thanked us frequently for making the trip, assuring as that most trials out there completed in a day (frontier justice?), and despite the hard seats and crowding in a single-courthouse building during pandemic times, I'm all for performing your civic duty.
But in my past court experiences, the judge would ask potential jurors to approach to disclose any personal background that could affect their suitability, yet here their procedure involves passing around a wireless microphone, which required most jurors to remove their mask to use effectively, and relate their issue to the whole room as if this were a talk show or SNL skit, and this being a domestic violence case, it wasn't fun. When the prosecutor started asking rape victims about their experience, I was ready to leave, and thankfully, I got dismissed (one benefit of wearing a mask is they can't see you grinning broadly as you make for the exit).
On the way back to Vegas, I shook off that bad karma by taking the scenic route, stopped by even smaller town Overton for coffee and cake at Criss Angel's diner, checked out the ancient pueblo artifacts at the Lost City Museum, and drove through the Valley of Fire. As soon as I reached North Las Vegas, I got some Thai food. It's good to be back.