The groans begin for most when the official summons is received. The language is along these lines:
You, Citizen Sucker, have been selected for jury duty, largely because, Citizen Sucker, you did something responsible and timely, like renew your driver's license or register to vote. Based on this responsible behavior, we know we can count on you to be present on [Insert Most Inconvenient Workday Here] at a time when only farmers and meteorologists are expected to be awake and moving.
I received my summons a few years ago, and stupidly postponed it because at the time I was about a month away from wedding day, and OMG, how could I be bothered to expend brain cells toward Justice for All when those brain cells had already been reserved for thoughts of whether or not fake eyelashes were trampy. Last year, the summons indicated that I was not needed. This year, when I am mired in publication deadlines and, oh, not to mention gestating a small eel in my uterus, my uterus which is now the size of a cantaloupe, I was summoned to report to the court o' law at the butt crack o' dawn -- and, gurl, was it a long day.
I won't subject you to the typical groans of waiting (it was actually good reading time) and waiting (I must have peed an average of every fourth minute) and waiting, being reduced to a number (#59 in my case) and then sitting in that jury pool of my peers, meaning people that know not how about reasonable headphone decibel levels nor about how not to talk and giggle TO THEMSELVES appropos of nothing. I'm sure you've heard it or lived through it all before.
I was nearly picked for jury duty, but they wanted me, fresh-faced, big-bellied me to sit on a medical malpractice case for two weeks, but this girl is traveling in that time. No can do, Judgey Judgerrobes! So I was released from my civic duties for the day.
May justice be served. By someone else. See you in three years.