The Juror

My wife was selected to be a juror even after I gave her ten surefire ways to get out of it.

Personally, I think she just wanted to wear the ginormous “JUROR” button she saw people mackin’ around the courthouse.

I think it’s cute that she’s all civically jazzed to wear it and I don’t have the heart to tell her that the looks she gets are derived from pity, not admiration.

The JUROR button they gave her to wear is about the size of a dinner plate. This thing is hilariously huge. The judge explained that its burdensome size ensures that people won’t speak to jurors as they wander around the halls of justice.

The judge further explained that all she can say to others is, “Hello”.

Nothing else.

Outside the courtroom she can say whatever she wants, aside from facts about the case, but inside the courthouse? She’s George from “Crazy People“.

She’s taking it all so serious, which is absolutely adorable, and I’m having way too much fun annoying her with probing questions that I know she can’t answer. She won’t even tell me what color shoes the guy is wearing. Or if it’s even a guy! And here I thought our marriage held no secrets. If we can’t share insider knowledge about the accused, where’s the fun?

On the plus side, she’s being paid $40 a day to sit on the jury. While the forty bucks is a nice gesture, it only makes up for about 30 minutes of lost income and my daughter refuses to allow me to get anything done.

To counter the hit we’re taking financially, I’ve derived a plan to make this whole experience more rewarding.

I figure if I can convince Heather to be the sole holdout for like three months, we’ll have an extra $3,600 just rollin’ around in our bank account.

Taking it a step further, what’s a Mercedes cost these days? $80,000? Bam. A strategic 2,000 day holdout and it’s ours.

As I kissed her goodbye this morning, my parting words were, “Make it happen, Cap’n!”

I’m pretty sure she won’t. I could see it in her patriotic eyes and hear it in her “you’re such a dork” voice. She’s actually enjoying this and it baffles me.

I still think she should have taken my advice and escaped the clutches of 8+ hours of daily testimony. Even though she didn’t take advantage of my devious genius, I’m going to share my pearls of wisdom with you.

Next time you’re summoned for pre-trial jury selection, just break out one of these gems:

1. Ask if you’ll be able to get a copy of the transcript because you like to include your husband when it comes to important decisions.

2. Ask if the verdict will affect how much you’re paid.

3. Explain that you have children and can recognize guilt like that (snap your fingers for added effect).

4. Take a Magic 8-Ball and shake it vigorously when answering questions. For example, when asked if you can be impartial, shake it up, look down, and reply, “All signs point to yes!” Responding with “Ask again later” should also have the desired effect.

5. Address the prosecutor as Sugar Buns.

6. When asked if you promise to “tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth”, explain that you’re not deaf and that you heard him the first time.

7. Wear a shirt that reads, “I sent someone to the pokey and all I got was this stupid t-shirt”.

8. Plead the 5th.

9. Feign narcolepsy and shout “Fry ‘im!” when awakened by the bailiff.

10. Take along a “That Was Easy” Staples button and press it every time an attorney appears satisfied with your answer.

Go ahead…try it.

Attorney: Have you ever been convicted of a felony?

You: Convicted? No. Not at this time.

Attorney: Thank you.

You…