This was supposed to be a big day for me. A huge day.
Everyone I know has been. They've told me stories. I got excited.
I was going to Jury Duty and I wanted to solve something. Anything.
Jimmy in the garage with the rake. Janice in the car with the revolver.
I wanted this to be special. I'd been practicing my poker juror face all damned night. I could have helped Justice get Served.
I was ready. I was willing. I was able.
They just didn't need me. Ol' Juror 2367 never got his chance to talk to anyone about his judicial system beliefs or how he thought the film 'The Firm' was slightly exaggerated.
I even looked the part, hot dammit. I had the non-descript white-guy outfit on. Pleats, fer cryssakes. Pleats. The face was shaven, which happens exactly never. I had my Justice Dish in a little cooler, ready to serve. Cold, of course.
But they stopped calling numbers at 1893. The bailiff told the rest of us to expect our six dollar check in the mail. Thanks for doing your Civic Duty, he allowed. Make sure to show your validation to the parking garage attendant. Good day.
And that was it.
There would be no Serving of Justice today, for Juror 2367. No, he must wait patiently for another day.
Another day when he can stand proudly, hold his right hand to the Bible, look 'em smack in the eye and Serve Some Justice.
But not this day.
Eh, it's probably a good thing.
I've never won a game of Clue in my life.