I apologize for not writing earlier, but I hope you’ll understand when I tell you that I was occupied today with jury duty.
Yes, I said “jury duty,” folks.
But don’t worry: I took copious notes as I sat in the jury lounge today. (And by the way, the use of the word “lounge” is utterly misleading. No singer crooning an original adult contemporary arrangement of “Baby Got Back,” no velvet painting of the Supreme Court Justices on the wall, and no booze.) I’m working on a post so that you can feel like you didn’t miss a minute of the adventure. I know, I know. You’re welcome.
I will leave you with this preview, though:
On Saturday night I called the courthouse to listen to the message that would tell me whether I’d have to report on Monday morning or whether I was excused for Monday and could call back Tuesday night to find out about Wednesday. (They only begin new trials on Mondays and Wednesdays.) So I’m listening to the recording of an enthusiasm-deficient woman delivering the instructions when I hear, “Those who need to report on Monday morning are Jurors Number 1 through 87.”
Guess what number I am?
Of course I am . . .