Jury Duty: At Least No Pauly Shore

I got the letter today. It is that letter that is dreaded by every citizen. It is that letter, the one with the envelope that just screams “bad news”. That is right, I got drafted: jury duty.

The first instinct in a situation like this is to start thinking up ways to get out of it. It was my instinct last time. I showed up carrying Michael Moore’s Stupid White Men and Other Sorry Excuses for the Nation? and sat happily reading it while I waited to be called.

It was not what was in the book that made me so happy; it was my simple, yet devious plan. Who would pick someone reading a book called Stupid White Men? Miami-Dade County Courts, that’s who. I was in the first group called.

Even though it did not work out last time, it was still my first instinct again. The difference this time is that I feel no desire to follow through in any way. I was robbed last time. I got picked to serve. I got myself psyched for a trial. I began to wonder about what kind of trial it would be. I was hoping for something interesting and fun without a real victim. I don’t think such a court case exists, but I can hope.

I got nothing. The defendant decided to change his plea when he saw the jury. What the Hell is that? A tease is what that is. I got dressed up, got there on time, went through the swearing and the nonsense and “BAM”, thanks but “we no longer require your service”. I think I am the only person who served jury duty and got sent home within 4 hours and was pissed it did not take longer.

Here it is, a year later, and I am going to the same courthouse. Instead of a book picked for its offensive title, I will show up prepared for a long stay and hope to be picked. I really think a trial might be fun.

Of course, this could all be some reverse psychology trick I am trying on the universe.