Jury Duty

In this brave new Randian era of libertarian enlightenment, there are still a few Orwellian scenes available to the discriminating consumer.
Enpanelment being chief among them; One sits in a long ill air conditioned corridor below ground level on hard wooden benches bought seemingly in the boyhood of Calvin Coolidge from the quaint arrangement of carved grafitti. A bailiff keeps watch behind a blast hardened vault door, one is enocuraged like the "guests" in Mao Zedong's thought reform camps to read, reflect and keep quiet.
Every so often what appears to be an attorney in a blue blazer and mismatched brown slacks, knocks at the vault door, passes thru some paperwork or else ineffectually whines and pleads in a hushed tone.
Whatever it is he wants, be it a jury or a diet coke, he isn't getting it and is soon reduced to incoherent whimpers in the corner.
Eventually a bailiff, straight out of central casting with a voice like ripples in a shot of whiskey reveals we may go, our services no longer required by the Commonwealth's Judicial System.
The day's trials have ended in plea bargains, or outright flight to Vesco island, whatever happened, no one wanted to face a jury today.
Other than that, the only thing I learned is that is that Massachusetts Chief Justice Margaret Marshall sounds all the world like Elmer Fudd.