Juror #142 saw no action
Yes. Jury duty. As a relatively worldly 33 year old American citizen, it may surprise some to know that I had never, until yesterday morning, seen any gleaming civic beacons in my mailbox, beckoning me to some court room to uphold my honor bound duty to use my intellect and unflappable moral fortitude to ascertain the TRUTH.
You see, I was looking forward to this.
Not to mention the idea of an unknown # of hours with which to do nothing but entertain myself.
AKA: knitting time.
Yesterday was going to be the day I completed the last section of the Elsebeth Lavold cardigan. Even 2 hours of uninterrupted knitting would have done it.
So there I was, eagerly awaiting my foray into the world of civic responsibility, grasping my Circles knitting bag breathlessly looking forward to my legal insight and cable panels.
And then...
...they took...
...my knitting needles.
They. Took. My. NEEDLES.
What, I'm going to get all stabby with my Addi Turbos?
I am the PICTURE of UPRIGHT CITIZEN, damnit.
And, if this hasn't been made clear to date, I am not the kind of girl who can sit still. I am a freaky little twitching mess with my need to DO something. Smoking really helps, but it's been like three years since one of those babies has touched my lips, and besides, if anything is going to make me start smoking again, it'll be something way sexier than jury duty.
Like France.
I'd smoke for France, if it was sweet and freshly shaven, and asked nicely while offering a lovely cheese plate.
But I digress.
So, there I was, with what turned out to be 5 hours of sitting around and avoiding the "crazies", with nothing but my newly discovered Armistead Maupin to keep me from running screaming through the corridors desperately clutching the shirtfronts of all passersby begging for the sweet relief of death. Or at very least a cigarette.
And in the end, the hours passed without the dulcet tones of Mr. Courtroom guy asking for #s 125 through 150 to please line up single file and follow him down that coveted hallway.
Bastard.
So anyway, here's a bunch of pictures of some stuff:
No knitting. Bleh.
You see, I was looking forward to this.
Not to mention the idea of an unknown # of hours with which to do nothing but entertain myself.
AKA: knitting time.
Yesterday was going to be the day I completed the last section of the Elsebeth Lavold cardigan. Even 2 hours of uninterrupted knitting would have done it.
So there I was, eagerly awaiting my foray into the world of civic responsibility, grasping my Circles knitting bag breathlessly looking forward to my legal insight and cable panels.
And then...
...they took...
...my knitting needles.
They. Took. My. NEEDLES.
What, I'm going to get all stabby with my Addi Turbos?
I am the PICTURE of UPRIGHT CITIZEN, damnit.
And, if this hasn't been made clear to date, I am not the kind of girl who can sit still. I am a freaky little twitching mess with my need to DO something. Smoking really helps, but it's been like three years since one of those babies has touched my lips, and besides, if anything is going to make me start smoking again, it'll be something way sexier than jury duty.
Like France.
I'd smoke for France, if it was sweet and freshly shaven, and asked nicely while offering a lovely cheese plate.
But I digress.
So, there I was, with what turned out to be 5 hours of sitting around and avoiding the "crazies", with nothing but my newly discovered Armistead Maupin to keep me from running screaming through the corridors desperately clutching the shirtfronts of all passersby begging for the sweet relief of death. Or at very least a cigarette.
And in the end, the hours passed without the dulcet tones of Mr. Courtroom guy asking for #s 125 through 150 to please line up single file and follow him down that coveted hallway.
Bastard.
So anyway, here's a bunch of pictures of some stuff:
No knitting. Bleh.
posted by Martha Marin at
5:44 PM
6 Comments
