So what could possibly suck more than having to cut and paste nearly every line of code in an attempt to fix your webpage by trial and error? Serving a day of jury selection. And what could then possibly suck even more than serving a day of jury selection? Finding out that you have to serve 2 days of jury selection...

It's 6:45am when I finally roll out of bed this morning. Scrounging around in the dimness that is my room before the sun rises, I manage to get dressed and stow my books in anticipation of heading to class after attending my juror summons down at the court house on University Avenue. I somehow manage to move one foot in front of the other in the correct direction towards the subway station and magically find myself on a train heading for Queen's Park Station after trying three times to insert my token into that damn tiny slot--it's not even 7:15; I'm still only semi-functional. As the train rolls to a stop at Osgoode Station, I slowly open my sleepy eyes only to be jolted awake and onto my feet when I realize I've already missed my station by one.

Up to street level I climb behind someone so perfectly heighted that if I glance anywhere close to forward, my gaze is gravitationally sucked toward their self-inflicted, atomic wedgie. Apparently that field-of-vision disruption is enough to temporarily erase my counting skills as it takes me a whole 5 minutes to realize that 361 University Avenue does not occur between 393 and 425 University Avenue and that I should quit trying to search for the Crown Attorney's office under the Timothy's Coffee listings. It's another 10 minutes later when I've finally backtracked to the court house, passed through the metal detectors (at least I made it through those on my first try), and am on my way to the 6th floor, only to spend 10 more minutes shuffling along in what I believe to be a line heading into the courtroom.

Sitting on the wooden benches that have too much butt space but too little armrest, I learn my first thing about juror summons: when they say "be here at 8:30am," they really mean "wake up at some ungodly hour, rush your a$$ down here because you're afraid to be late, and then sit here on these damn uncomfortable benches that make you long for your overcrowded lecture halls while 'commissioners' wander in and out of the court room for two hours before they tell you they're running 'a bit behind schedule'."

Finally I'm told to "please rise" (off my sore yet numb a$$) and the selection begins. First off the guy at the front tells me and the rest of the room what we're all there for because obviously the letter of summons and the double-sided pamphlet enclosed with it didn't do that thoroughly enough already. Next, he reads off the list of the names of people to be involved with this particular case because if any one of us might know or be somehow associated with any one on there, we'll have to be excused. This list turns out to be 50 names long and the man reading manages to stumble on each and every one of them. Then of course a bunch of people line up to have their chance at being excused for knowing one of them. I momentarily muse about standing up myself, but decide I hadn't been paying enough attention to the list to be able to repeat even one name as being one I supposedly know. I am soon glad I chose not to go--the three people up there take long enough as it is...

    "And whom do you think you may be associated with in this case?"
    "I believe Guido (yes, there is a Guido on this list) is my wife's second-cousin's cousin, once removed..."

    "And whom do you think you may be associated with in this case?"
    "Ms. X is a close family friend."
    "To make sure we're talking about the same Ms. X, do you know what she holds as an occupation?"
    "No."
    "Do you know where she lives?"
    "No."
    "Do you know approximately how old she is?"
    "No..."

I sigh and continue trying to amuse myself by imagining how things could be worse for myself...unfortunately, I don't come up with much.

Next the judge offers excusals for those who are hard of hearing (I have selective hearing...), have difficulty with language (I can't speak Chinese...), or have health problems that would interfere with serving the duties of a juror. This last category draws the largest group of attempting escapees:
    "I'm old with knee problems," (I'm young with knee problems)
    "I'm having my wisdom teeth out," (you only need to listen, not talk)
    "I can't sit for long periods of time," (even though we've all been sitting for 4 hours by this point)
    "My doctor says it's not good for me to be in stressful situations," (no shit, Sherlock)...
One girl amazingly walks up to the judge's desk and, as if on cue, bursts into tears. (I wish I'd thought of that...)

As the line finally ends, I begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel. "It'll be over soon," I think to myself, "Another little while and I can head to my classes!" Alas, my hope fades as Mr. Honourable then tells me that those of us remaining will have our names drawn to see when we will return for part II of selection. I nearly burst into (real) tears. And so the drawing and name reading begins, and of course the reader again stumbles on every syllable.

    "Juror #45665, Marcus X. Juror #52910, Freddy Z. Juror #..."

The process takes another 2 hours. But when I close my eyes, it sounds like I'm in a strange type of gaming hall and I'm strongly tempted to call out "BINGO" between names. Then without realizing it, I begin to hope they call me next as though I would win a prize if they do. While sitting anxiously upright, clutching my summons paper as though it's a lottery ticket, I suddenly realize I'm starving and begin to wish I'd had the foresight to bring some munchies or drinks. I give the lady across the aisle longing looks, trying to telepathically convince her to pass some of her brownies and bottled water my way. I think I've almost made the connection with her when a commissioner suddenly appears down the aisle and blocks my psychic transmissions. I then proceed to give the back of his head dirty looks until I hear what he has to say:

    "Excuse me ma'am, there's no eating or drinking in the courtroom."

So much for that idea. Then I remember the pack of gum in my backpack and decide that'll have to do. As I'm discreetly trying to search for it, I hear another commissioner materialize somewhere behind me and whisper,

    "I'm sorry sir, but you'll have to spit out your gum; there's no gum chewing while the court's in session."

And so I discreetly set my bag back on the floor as though I'd been searching for nothing and had found it, and miserably I continue to pretend I'm interested in the proceedings.

It's nearly 10 hours after I began my day when my name is finally drawn (I barely manage to hold in an "I WIN!!! Suckers!!!)and I'm finally released from that room. Giddy with excitement, I skip nearly all the way to the subway station (this time it's the right one), so relieved to be free that for the moment I forget the fact that I missed all my classes today and also the fact that I have to return to the same dreadful room on Friday morning--I'm so thrilled to be out of there that not even the fact that the subway has to stop for a while on the way home for a "medical emergency" brings me down much.
...

After such an experience today, I have troubles conceiving how anyone would want to win an elimination-type of game show like Survivor or Elimi-date; I had a taste of those kinds of reality today, and man oh man did I EVER want to be the first to go...too much waiting around for me. But then again, to be selected as a juror would indicate that you were some sort of super-human. Afterall, to be a juror you have to be so independent that you know no one, you've got some sort of vitality, you have average to excellent hearing abilities, and you have a great bill of health. Super-human, eh? Maybe I do want to be a juror...wait a minute...NO! No I don't! *sigh*