Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I'm the decider!
Sorry to go all m.i.a. on y'all after leaving you hanging with so many questions.
"Who would pick someone like Whiskey for jury duty? Are they nuts? Can't they see that she's drunk?"
"Does Whiskey even know what a jury is? I'm pretty sure she thinks habeas corpus is a cocktail..."
"Can I scream 'objection!' just once? Please?"
"Is that your gavel or are you just happy to see me?"
"Don't you hate pants too?"
Jury duty has been fun! You know, fun in the way that someone punching you repeatedly in the ovaries/balls is fun. Fun in the way stomach flu is fun. Fun in the way that advanced algebra is fun. Fun in the way that getting your period while camping is fun.
Well, turns out I kind of got picked (finally! And just in time- that 2004 issue of Motorsports weekly in the jury room was starting to look like some pretty good reading) for a criminal trial today. I'll find out for sure tomorrow. I'm already practicing my speech: "Yes, your honor. We the jury find the defendant guilty of stealing our hearts. He is guilty on all charges including: first degree bringing the funk and grand being too sexy for his shirt larceny."
But, that's pretty much it for my excitement meter today. That's it. That was my day.
Well, I guess I also learned that when you stick 24 people in a tiny room that the men and women will predictably still find a way to segregate themselves and most of the women will resort to conversations involving the words placenta and cesarean, that someone sitting near me in the jury box farted and it smelled like death twice over, that some of my potential co-jurors need to just shut the hell up before I manually do it for them, that even when you are told no less than 453 times to not even bring your cell phone into the courthouse, some cracker-looking jackass will not only bring his in, but forget to turn off his country song customized ringer, and that people are annoying and overall I don't like them much at all.
And, my computer is fucked, so I may be a bit m.i.a. for a day or two more.
I miss you guys. Make out with yourself drunk for me, then don't call yourself the next day. You know- the way I wouldn't.