The other night I dreamed I was my friend, Betro. She was the victim of a hit-and-run donkey-butt recently, and she’s recovering from the physical injuries. She’s also dealing with the financial injury, as her car has been laid to rest and now must be replaced. As I understand it, Betro stopped for a red light and the aforementioned donkey-butt behind her actually sped up and crashed into her stopped car. Said donkey-butt then floored it around her and jumped on the freeway, leaving the scene. (Y’all have got to know that I may be typing “donkey-butt” but I’m thinking much worse.)

 

Anyhoo, Betro is doing her best to deal with all this. And she’s in a lot of pain. The whole situation sucks, and she’s on my mind a lot lately. Maybe that’s why I dreamed I was her. In court. Facing down the donkey-butt himself. But the dream wasn’t giving me any triumphant scenes of righteous justice. In my dream, I (Betro) was being grilled by the defense attorney about my driving habits. Do I drink and drive? Do I do drugs and drive? I was honestly able to answer each of those questions with a firm “no.” But that defense attorney just kept attacking me (Betro). At some point in the dream, I looked at the judge and said, “Your honor, do I have to keep answering the same questions over and over again, and endure this verbal attack, when I’m clearly not the one on trial?” I’d love to tell you what the judge said, but that’s when I woke. That dream was finished.

 

After I’d had my coffee, memories of the dream led me to recall the one and only time I’ve actually sat on a jury. It was one of the most disappointing experiences of my life. Some dude slapped a traffic cop, there was even a witness, but the “jury of peers” I was hog-tied to decided they just couldn’t trust a cop. (They didn’t comprehend that they were also not trusting the witness, but we’re talking about 11 idiots here, friends.) We were hopelessly dead-locked, and then one of the idiot jurors said that if we ended in a hung jury, we’d all have to start jury duty over again. A couple of us tried telling the rest that no, we would not have to start all over, but it was too late. That false statement inspired a bunch of the idiots to change their minds on the verdict. And that was when I’d had enough. I called for the bailiff and said I was done with this group and that something had to give. The judge – through the bailiff – ordered me to write out my misgivings and then I passed that on. All 12 of us were called in to speak with the judge, where we were told we would not have to start jury duty all over again, no matter the trial’s outcome. And that we were charged with giving an honest verdict. But it was too late. Those idiots had already decided to reward the asshole who slapped a cop. A hung jury it was.

 

After the verdict was delivered, the judge invited all 12 jurors into his chambers for a discussion. One-by-one, he asked each juror how the experience had been. I was the last to be asked for my opinion. I looked at the 11 idiots in the room and then at the judge and said, “This was the biggest waste of my time – ever. I cannot believe these people are allowed to make decisions about a person’s innocence or guilt. I pray to God I don’t ever need a jury, because not one of these people is my peer. I am beyond disappointed.”

 

Well, the jurors were stunned into silence. I mean, can you blame them? I had basically called them idiots without saying as much. And the judge, I don’t think he thought I’d be that honest. But I was, so there you go.

 

By the way, Mister has a hilarious, put-it-all-out-there jury duty story, too. But you’ll have to get that one from him.

 

In the meantime, I’m hoping my friend Betro gets better. And that her pain and suffering ease. I’m not worried about her legal road ahead. She’ll prevail. And if she does end up having to go to court, she’ll be just fine.

 

After all, I’ve already disaster-proofed the courtroom for her. Word.

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