Passing sentence on the Saturn

A scene from "12 Angry Men" starring Henry Fonda, Jack Klugman, Lee. J. Cobb and E.G. Marshall, the 1957 film about serving on a jury. What does this have to do with a dead car? Stick around.

My 1997 Saturn SL passed away quietly in its sleep last week.

And let's face it, if your primary mode of transportation kicks the bucket, that's where you want it to die: in the driveway or parking lot, not in the center lane of the 5 freeway at rush hour.

No, I came out one morning and started it, only to discover the power steering had gone out. So actually, my death metaphor doesn't really work here — the car isn't dead, it's like it has a broken neck.

But since we have managed health care for geriatric vehicles in our house, a 1997 car with more than 200K miles and a dicey computer is unlikely to be approved for a operation to improve its quality of life. Yep, here's the REAL death panel for cars: broke owners.

We'll just shoot it like a lame horse and move on.

It turns out that morning that I was already late for jury duty, which I had postponed in December because I was in finals week at my job. I grabbed a can of starter fluid and cranked up the MG, which I hadn't been driving because it had what I thought was a wheel noise.

For days, we made do with one car: our 2009 Honda Fit (lovely car, 39 miles to the gallon), and tried to find someone local to fix the MG. Meanwhile, the "wheel noise" revealed itself to be an exhaust leak, getting louder and louder. I was driving down Division Street when I saw MGs in the lot at Sal's European Motors.

My 1979 MGB, taken by the previous owners. Liz and Rich Breault

There are two Sals, a junior and a senior, so it really should be Sals' European Motors, but whatever, I was happy to see MGs sitting there. (A few even looked like they ran....) I got a $90 estimate on the exhaust, but a funny thing happened on the way to the repair shop: the driver's side seat back broke.

So it was $90 for the exhaust fix and $200 for the seat. Already I could have rented a car more cheaply.

Two days later, I'm at work when I get a call — my husband has the MG, and it won't start, and it gets towed to Sal's. Again.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to get excused from jury duty so I don't have to cancel any more classes. Adjunct college instructors don't get to call substitutes like K-12 teachers — if I can't show up, the college has to replace me and pay the sub with my money. Not that the court gives a damn; they've already given me one extension. I didn't even try to get off that way, I just figured I'd spin the wheel and take my chances.

The first day we don't get into the courtroom until 3 p.m. and court closes at 4:30, so we don't get a lot done. I'm not one of the original 18 called, so it's looking good. It's Thursday, there's a furlough day on Friday, so we return on Monday. The call is for 2:30, I have to cancel my 1:30 class. We continue voir dire for two hours. People get dismissed, new people get called, I'm still not in the jury box.

Tuesday, again the call is for 2:30 p.m. It looks good; I'm still not being called. They have 12 people in the box they seem to like; they excuse some more people (like the guy who says people should be guilty until proved innocent, kinda makes me hope he gets arrested some day).

Then it comes — there are only three of us left in the audience, and they call my number. They ask us tons of questions. The DA wants to know what kind of blog I write, and what topics I write about. I say, oh, you know, my granddaughter Charlotte, my balky MG. "Balky?" he asks. Yeah, as in it runs when it feels like it. As a matter of fact, it's in the shop right now. "I'll remember not to buy a British car," he says, smiling.

"I'm going to tell Bentley and Rolls Royce you said that," cracks the judge. They ask me so many questions, I'm sure they're going to excuse me for being a freelance journalist, for being married to a journalist, for being cynical about the system, just because.

The lawyers and the judge go to a sidebar, then come back. The judge says the lawyers are both accepting the jury as constituted (yes, like orange juice is reconstituted), and they have agreed on two alternate jurors, and they call my name.

I guess I had a shocked look on my face, because the judge just looked at me and said, "Is that all right?"

I stammered, "But, I'm an adjunct college instructor, and I'm in the middle of a semester!" Super annoyed, the judge says, "Now is not the time to be telling us that!"

Oh, yeah, like they would have excused me, had I said so in the beginning. The judge throws up his hands, and say, "OK, then. Back to jury selection!" and gives me a look like it's all my fault. Well. I guess it was.

So I get excused, and the MG got a new starter and ignition switch. It turns out the the switch never snapped back, and it was calling for power from the starter the whole time we were driving it. It burned up all the relays back to the starter.

"Your husband is lucky it didn't catch on fire while he was driving it," said Sal Senior.

Hmm...I'm not sure he would consider himself lucky when it come to that car.

The upshot is that I got $38. 16 check for my time on jury duty. I bought a bottle of Scotch. It helped when I got the $328 bill from the the two Sals....

Anybody got a Miata they want to sell me?