Well, the jury is final and I'm on it. Unfortunately, so is #9. Most unfortunate, Juror #7 is still there and I discovered today he's got some serious dragon breath. Holy Mother of God, it could take the paint off the wall.
One of the people who was excused--and seriously, if you're going to try to talk your way out of jury duty, take some freaking acting lessons--kept saying, "I would have a difficulty time being impartial." He said it about 20 times until I nearly lept from my seat and said, "DIFFICULT, not difficulty, lab partner. You should be excused based on that alone." And he was one of those people who throws big words into their conversations to try to sound smart, but then uses the big word incorrectly thereby exposing themselves as a sham.
While eating my lunch at the Court of Flags, the meanest looking pigeons surrounded me. They were led by Grandpa pigeon. I was on the phone with my sister at the time, so I couldn't take his picture, but trust me when I say he was a pigeon who meant business. He was naturally after my peanut butter sandwich since I had tossed a portion of it into the throng earlier after a fly had vomited on it. (against Tina's advice--one day I'll listen to you, Tina) Grandpa pigeon eyed me up and down with his good eye, then hopped over on his two-talon feet and came dangerously close to pecking my toes. I kicked at him and I think my size made him change his mind. A few minutes later, something wet landed on my arm from the tree above. I'm not sure, but I think Grandpa got his revenge after all.
There were a bunch of guys with bikes hanging around too. I suspect they were these but they looked more like these . Actually, on closer observation, I'm going with the first choice. After a few minutes, a man pulled up on a motorcycle, handed the ringleader a stack of papers with binder clips and what not, and then sped off. Plus they all had those annoying cell phone/ walkie talkie things. Still, it looked kind of shady, and not because of the trees (HA! I crack myself up).
I'll be back on Monday with more tales of downtown, but none of Roy...not in the blog anyway. MonkeyGurrrll, I'll tell you in private. Oh, and I did not get to knit in the jury room. One is not allowed to bring knitting needles to court anymore. And to think, last time I actually brought cross stitch to do. Needles! Pointy ones! It's sad how 9/11 has made the world change. A gal can't even knit in court for fear of the pointies being used as a weapon. Doesn't the court realize that by taking away our rights to knit in court the terrorists have won? Of course, for the safety of Jurors 7 & 9, it's probably a good thing I don't have pointy objects with me.