Memo to self: Buy lottery ticket.

That's how lucky I felt Thursday night when I realized I had just phoned in my jury duty. Literally.

Good, little citizen that I am, I called each evening as my summons said to do. But my group number never was called.

Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner. Because according to the rules, I've done my time.

So I dodged that civic-duty bullet. But that might not be the last one.

The Ventura County Grand Jury just released a report faulting security at the County Government Center's Hall of Administration.

At the adjacent courthouse and jail, security is understandably tighter. The place is crawling with hungry lawyers.

But at the Hall of Administration, security has to be lax out of self-defense. Our county leaders know better than to annoy someone who's there paying taxes or getting a marriage license.

There is apparently no end to the county's efforts to placate the public. The report points out the guards in the lobby were observed answering citizens' questions rather than visually scanning all who enter.

The grand jurors recommend the county make the Board of Supervisors' meeting room a harder target. Which is bad news for a columnist. Taking verbal potshots at politicians is in our job description.

They suggest posting an armed guard at supervisors' meetings, installing a panic button and a security camera in the meeting room and making the dais bulletproof. What's next? The gadfly zapper?

The report does fail to mention how we the public can protect ourselves should a riot break out — among the sometimes-warring supervisors.

The report recommends the "no weapons" sign at the building's main entrance have larger, clearer type. I guess that's so the senior citizens packing heat will immediately disarm.

But if you ask me, the biggest crime at the Government Center is not even mentioned in the 16-page document.

The complex consists of three buildings surrounded by the Bermuda Triangle, otherwise known as the parking lot. It is there that even a pink Rolls-Royce could somehow turn invisible.

Based on the sheer number of people I see searching for their rides there, I figure the lot has swallowed a bevy of Chevys and hordes of Fords.

My Pontiac joined the disappeared one day last summer. I wandered the aisles, pressing the keyless remote, hoping my car would show itself. I stumbled across other unfortunate souls who had misplaced their cars. And it occurred to me that with the courthouse right there, the odds were high I'd cross paths with an accused felon. Probably also looking for his or her car.

On the verge of sunstroke, I called a friend to help me find it.

While I waited for her, I surveyed the lot. There, as if a mirage, was my Vibe — one lot over from where I was sure I had left it.

Ever since the complex opened 30 years ago, county workers have tried to overcome a parking-lot design that laid an egg. The sidewalks stretch from the Hall of Justice like a big chicken claw. Between the toes are three parking lots. Unfortunately, they are identical in size, shape and landscaping. So it's easy for your brain to scramble where it is you parked.

In 1998, an earlier grand jury, analyzing emergency evacuation scenarios, declared the parking a maze.

That resulted in more signs, said Rosalind Harris, a facilities manager in charge of security for the county.

Now, 10 years and dozens of mislaid Mazdas later, the county staff is still tweaking the parking. They recently color-coded the aisle signs and added "you are here" locators.

Since then, the calls to security for help finding lost vehicles have dropped, said Bernard Redding of county security operations.

Previously, there would be as many as 10 on days when an unusually large jury pool reported for duty but usually around 15 to 20 a week. Now, he said, the assistance requests have fallen to two per day.

I asked Harris how I could avoid losing my car. She suggested these steps: Look at the sign closest to your car. Note the color. Count how many stalls your car is parked from the top of the row and then take note of whether you entered the Hall of Justice or the administration offices. Alright then. Memo to self: Do not leave my lottery ticket in any car parked at the Government Center.

— You can e-mail this Star columnist at ccason@VenturaCountyStar.com.