The worst feeling in the world is seeing that envelope in the mail, the one with the official seal and the words "Important: Jury Summons Enclosed" written across the front.
I don't like Jury Duty, but because I have become so goody-goody in my old age, I'm resigned to doing my time. And I've decided not to try to weasle my way out by acting like I don't understand English or pretending to be schizophrenic or telling the judge that I don't like black people.
The jury room has improved. In addition to a TV room for jurors (marked "TV ROOM FOR JURORS USE," with no apostrophe), there's now a room with laptops with Internet connections, where I am now. There is no sign for this room, simply a rectangular patch of discolored wood on the door, where a sign was once affixed.
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