I tried really hard to get out of it, but none of my excuses were good enough when I emailed. This was a federal case, so my aunt had to drive me to Trenton to plead for my freedom. After waiting around, we god herded into a courtroom, and the judge told us that the case was gonna be a long one. They began to call names to sit in the jury seats, and one by one, they confirmed their availability. I was put in the seat instantly upon the first persons dismissal. I raised my hand, and said, “your honor, I can’t be a juror on a two week trial, I have opera rehearsal.” The room was quiet. I think someone laughed. I had to explain how I would get fired if I didn’t go, and that I would lose money–this kind of freelance job doesn’t abide by the jury rules. And she looked at me, and said, “opera huh, well, sing something for us.”

People ask me to sing all the time. It was about 10:30 AM in goddamn Trenton, and I was wearing sweatpants. I really just wanted to go home, because I had to memorize about 20 more pages of Italian for my opera.

So I did. In a federal court of law, in front of the judge, all the jury pool, the lawyers and the fucking DEFENDANT, I sang o mio babbino caro. It was the only song I could think of, and it has a bunch of high notes in it and people eat that shit up. 

And the judge fucking excused me. The skeezy NJ defense attorney said “Bravissimo,” which is the wrong ending for a woman, but I’ll accept the praise.

Grodner will never let us have that again.

“And as a child I’ve been bullied for being darkskinned, so much to a point where I wanted to be lighter. And it took me a while to really embrace it. But when I did, I was able to stand in all this chocolate, unapologetically.” 

“...and that is why you should never partake in paying federal income taxes. Hey! You’ll ruin your nails!”