The Jury Is In.

I am not sure how it happened. Was it bad luck? Bad karma? The whole effing universe conspiring against me? I do not know.
For whatever reason, I am officially and forever juror number seven,
Three Hundred and Fifty Second District Court, the Honorable Judge Bonnie Sudderth presiding.
5.7 million dollars rests on my opinion of the facts in evidence.

Someone has made a colossal mistake.
FIVE POINT SEVEN MILLION DOLLARS?
Are you kidding me?

Don’t these people know I agonize for weeks over small decisions, like what shade of puse to paint the Master Bathroom? The front yard of the New Digs is still treeless because I cannot commit to spending $200 on a Crepe Myrtle. What if a Bradford Pear would look better? There is not proof beyond a reasonable doubt.

There is a lesson in this. When you are called to appear at the County Courthouse for Jury Duty, wear your leggings, proudly display your bra straps, put on your plastic shoes and paint your nails blue. It is the only way to assure immediate dismissal. I was not that smart. Please refer to previous post "A Jury Of Her Peers" for evidence of my extreme stupidity.

There is a bright side. Judge Bonnie is uber cool. After spending the morning in voir dire (It sounds way sexier than it really was) with smarmy personal injury lawyers (and their equally smarmy insurance defense counterparts) each juror was presented with a commemorative coffee cup from Judge Bonnie. "Congratulations: You're screwed! Please accept this cup and eight bucks a day as a token of our appreciation" The cup includes a disclaimer “not paid for at taxpayer expense” Cool and careful. Totally re-electable. I love Judge Bonnie.
I guess I’ll stick around for a while.
Mr. Fussy Pants (my unreasonable, slightly obsessive-compulsive boss) is going to love this!

Out-T.