Because God was busy killing puppies and not curing cancers, He overlooked the fact that a terrible error was made:
I was called to serve Jury Duty.
First of all, if my loyal readers will recall, I live in Bumblefuck Nowhere, NC. What do they even need juries for here? Just call up Andy “I will fucking Cut you” Griffith and have him and Barney take care of it. What is the worse crime even being committed? Someone robbed a Biscuitville? An aged hickory root is upsetting old lady Finklestein’s flower beds? I mean, traffic cones being knocked over makes the evening news here, people, as does harmless, unprofane graffiti.
Additionally, I was not well with having to sit with my fellow yokels in a 50 square foot room all day. There was the deaf guy who alternately screamed into a cell phone, under the mistaken impression that you can teach someone to drive stick shift verbally and through sheer volume alone, and maniacally dry-washed his hands to beat the band. Among the assembled kitten-stomping masturbators and other assorted deves was the woman who insisted on gyrating her hips and emphasizing a perfunctory “Mm-HM!” in response to the WWII movie they inexplicably left on for our “entertainment”* and who noisily ate the biggest bag of popcorn I’ve ever even imagined to exist. When we were introduced (she offered me a slimy paw full of clumpy kernels at one point, glaring as though daring me to accept them), she told me, “I soopervise reh-tarded people.” Uh, supervise? Are you sure they know they let you out for the day? Also, if you are fortunate enough to work with the mentally impaired (see all my entries under “teaching career”), then is it really all right to call them “retarded”?! Finally, I had to move my seat when a guy who looked like the sort of person who completes each evening with a good old-fashioned dog raping kept giving me the eye.
And after 8 goddamn hours of that shit, I was awarded $12, no free lunch** and sent home without a jury being needed that particular day. Makes you almost miss the days of a good old-school stoning. I mean, at least justice was meted out promptly.
* Here, the word “entertainment” clearly means, “attempt to encourage a small portion of the population to suicide”
** My brother and I had a small disagreement over whether or not they would feed us. He chortled at the very idea, sneering that I was going to Jury DUTY, not Jury Jamboree, nor Jury Vacation… (Jurmboree? Jurcation?) Alas, he was right again, as per some ghoulish childhood pact that has ensured his innate rightness over my younger, innate wrongness.