"YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

Civic Duty called and I answered. I went to Jury Duty. I was the second to last person (of 30) to show up. Technically I was the very last since the last girl never showed up at all. What happens when you don't show up for Jury Duty? They probably send Chuck Norris for you. Anyway, I was only 3 minutes late. In my book that's not even considered late. I guess all those other people were just excited to be there. Though nobody looked remotely excited.

We sat around for awhile in a waiting room while I desperately wished that I a) wasn't coughing, b) had a coffee, and c) had a People magazine. After about a half hour we walked into the courtroom for jury selection. It wasn't "A Few Good Men", but it was my first time in a courtroom so it was kind of cool. The judge did a few introductions and explanations and then they chose 21 of the 30 to enter "the well" for further selection. And...

I wasn't chosen. After a week of desperately wishing I could get out of jury duty, I suddenly felt rejected. Why didn't they want me? I felt like the girls who get sent home on the first night of The Bachelor. I didn't even get my chance to show them what a great Juror I could be. That lasted for about thirty seconds until I realized that I would get to go home to this...
And my sweet little Emmie who was recovering from sickness at home...
And I might even get to take a nap. And I wouldn't have be there for the next 4 days from 9-5 when I'm feeling icky. So whatever made me a reject...I'm just happy to be me.

The truth is, I think I would have been a terrible juror. In just the 2 hours they kept the rejects there to observe, I had decided the prosecuting attorney was a slime ball and the defendant was a nice, honest-looking man. I shouldn't tell you about the case, but I will say this: if you fall down a couple of stairs and hurt yourself, without knowing all the specifics, I'll feel bad for you until you try to sue the local restaurant where you fell for a butt load of money. Then I'll just be annoyed.

You may think all my drama ended in the courtroom, but you would be wrong! On a break I decided to walk across the street to the gas station for some watery coffee. While walking across the parking lot a car nearly hit me going fairly fast for a gas station. When I say "nearly", I am not exaggerating the way I usually do. I literally jumped out of my left shoe while avoiding a full on hit and the man ran over my shoe. Then, he backed up and ran over my shoe again. Then he pulled forward and ran over my shoe a third time! In the middle of all this I am trying to knock on his window saying, "Sir, please stop! You need to stop!" and he completely ignores me and goes off to fill his tank with gas seemingly unaffected.

I, however, was quite affected. A guy stopped to make sure I was okay. Alright, now I'm exaggerating. He was already stopped because he was standing outside having a smoke. And I'm not sure he was even as concerned as he was amused by the whole thing.

But my husband was concerned. I was on the phone with Bill at the time who was a little freaked out (as freaked out as that steady man gets) by his wife's frantic yelling on the phone. Having the cat-like reflexes that I do, I never dropped the phone. I told Bill I was going to go confront the man, but he didn't want me to do that. The guy was probably 75...I could have taken him. As long as he didn't have the advantage of a moving vehicle this time.

So instead of a citizen's arrest, I called the police with his license plate and had them follow up. With how clueless he was about almost hitting a pedestrian, I somehow think he might be a danger on the open road. I told the dispatcher that I was fine and that I couldn't talk more because I had to get back in for (reject) jury duty. She told me to call back later if I wanted to press charges regarding damage done to my shoe. Seriously? I don't need another unnecessary court case in my life.

Besides, they are Dansko's...
What damage???? They looked no different after they were "assaulted" three times. Those things are tanks. They aren't the cutest ever. In fact, Emma asked for prayer in her Sunday School class because her mom can't wear cute shoes anymore after her foot surgeries. But they can withhold being squished by a car three times and not show a hint of damage. Take that, Christian Louboutin's!

Next time Civic Duty calls, it might be safer for me to let it go straight to voice mail.