A few short months ago I received an innocuous-looking letter in the mail from the Justice Dept. A torrent of thoughts cascaded through my mind: what on Earth had I done? One skerrick of a clue on the front barely held my attention before I ripped open the envelope: jury duty? A vital civic duty yet the bane of folks all over the free world. Only a visit to the dentist is dreaded more. But I was somehow thrilled at the chance to try it out.
To me, the very words jury duty conjured up all manner of visions. The archaic monochrome of 12 Angry Men. The tense drama and show-pony lawyers of John Grisham adaptations. And of course Homer Simpson trying to snooze through a trial by hiding behind a pair of glasses with images of open eyes on them! I wanted one of those.
Of course, I was…
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