"Your name has been selected at random and you may be summoned for jury duty….failing to return this letter by its due date would leave you liable for a penalty."
The Sheriff of Doyourcivicdutyland
Yes, the letter really and truly comes from the Sheriff of my state (the name has been changed to protect the innocent).
All righty now, it’s only the preliminary round. I may not be called up at all, but the mere idea, the possibility that I could be one of 12 angry men (or women,) well, quite frankly, makes my lower gastro-intestinal tract seize up.
Why is that Oldbitey? Why are you reaching for the Pepto-Bismol?
This ain’t some kind of contest. There are no novels involved. There are no scores. There is no winner. There’s just me (and the other jurors chosen at random) to decide the fate of some sorry individual who’s had the misfortune or dumbassed idiocy to wind up in court. I’m one of those who hesitates to cast the first stone kinda people, and in terms of court cases I know it boils down to which legal counsel presents the best argument. It’s not all about evidence. It’s about who’s better at arguing.
Shrinky is so jealous. He’d love to be in my shoes.He’s always wanted to be on a jury. As twisted as my insides are, I can see why he’s envious. A little. He’s fascinated by the whole psychological side of things. Me, and this is me trying to see the positive side, thinking ‘wow, what an opportunity for a character study. What a place to mine for potential storylines. What a great way to…to…to…’ Um, little help?
The bottom line is, it is my civic duty to serve. For $30 a day. Plus travel expenses. I just have to get used to the idea, bring along a strip of chewable Pepto-Bismol, and a notebook to scribble details that I’ll later turn into a feature film starring Cher and Dennis Quaid.
No, wait. I write romantic comedies, not thrillers with a mute Liam Neeson.