I'm a Professional Alternate Juror

In case any of you were wondering, I've finally found my calling: Professional Los Angeles Criminal Court Alternate Juror. I am so good. Nobody takes there temporary, one week-long job more serious than me. I take the best meaningless notes; I sit in the hallway while the real jury deliberates better than any unlucky person in Los Angeles; and I'm unbelievably talented when it comes to saying exactly the right things, to not only get screwed over by being selected to a jury, but to become an alternate juror, where I can't even vote on the case, but have to be there everyday. I take my job very seriously. It's my civil duty, or civic duty, or my Honda Civic, or some shit.

Inconceivable, man. Could I get any luckier? I've been out of work all week, after being selected to be an alternate juror on a trial in downtown Los Angeles. Being an "alternate juror" is really, really, really important. I get to be there all week, but do nothing! I get to "play" juror, but I'm not really "in" the jury. It's so sweet. I might as well be wearing Osh Kosh B'Gosh red corduroy overalls and playing with Ninja Turtles action figures while I'm in the jury box. When addressing me, they should call recess "nap time." I shouldn't be in the jury box. I should be sitting in a fucking sandbox right under the judge, building sand castles and bugging the court reporter. So ridiculous. When the jury went into deliberation today, I got to sit in the hallway, as if I had just gotten in trouble for snapping Sally Jenkenheimer's bra strap in 8th grade! (That never happened.) Awesome!

But the best part? I have to go back Monday morning! SuperMarioBrothers! I have to frickin' (and I type "frickin" with the highest verbosity possible, or something) be there at 8:30 a.m. and just to sit on a cold stone bench in a hallway that reminds me of the movie The Shining (I don't know why, but it does) until these idiots come up with the obvious verdict that should have taken 5 minutes today.

Oh well... I guess a week's worth of 6:00 p.m. depression, for no apparent reason, is good for the chicken soup. I can't take it much longer though, and I know one thing: next time I make it onto a panel of potential jurors, I'm going to lie my ass off, or say tell them that these blogs are my primary source of income and claim "financial hardship." Because, fuck this shit.