Justice (Some Assembly Required)

Continued From: "I, the Jury"

I was six minutes late arriving for jury duty. Nobody yelled at me and the waterboarding over my "alleged" Arby's drive-thru biscuit caper delay was surprisingly convivial -- although the scrambled egg got soggy and was sent off to the Bunko Lab for carbon dating.

The courthouse agenda was uneventful, if you consider a two-hour-plus lunch break normal.

I drove to Quiznos just so I could say "Flatbread Sammie" to a sammich-erecting stranger toting guacamole in a squeeze pouch.

"Would you like chips and a cookie with that?"


I practice in my spare time.

When the jury returned to business for the afternoon, we were soon sent home for the day. I was hoping to make it in time for my five-hour supper.

So, other than lunch, my first day of jury duty was a bust, waiting and waiting and waiting to wait some more.


Okay, I think I wrote that in the correct sequence.

Otherwise, I spent the morning and most of tea time wondering if the judge was wearing pantaloons under his robe.

The rest of the jury is hung on culottes.

I would have to be the lone hold out.

Furrowed brow and glistened lip reconvene at 9 a.m.

I may even wear a necktie so I can loosen it.
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