My fellow jurors and I find some solace in catching each other's eyes and exchanging nods of solidarity. With only our pupils, we express a Russian novel's worth of pain. Then, with our middle fingers, we express other feelings. I fear these walls are turning us on ourselves, too. My perception of reality can no longer be trusted. I labeled this entry as "Hour 5," but in truth, I have no idea how long it's been. I found myself watching, and thoroughly enjoying, The Blind Side for what felt like at least 20 uninterrupted minutes. It ultimately turned out that I wasn't even looking at the TV, and the "movie" was a white lady idly sitting beside a black man, but still -- her performing was incredible.
She really made me believe she liked black people. Maybe that's why Sandra Bullock got the Oscar? Does she have a history of vocal racism? Was she playing against type? If so, then bravo, Bullock!
Hour 7, 8, Or 9: Freedom Of Justice
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The Blind Side is ... off. It's just ... not on. But ... it usually pauses for the announcements. Could a complete stop mean ... no. Could it be ... over?
Curiosity ripples through the remaining few. Did we do it? Did we survive? A voice speaks over the PA system. I don't remember the words. But the feeling ... oh, the feeling. A glow, a warm glow rolling through my blood. And a smile. I remember smiles.
There have been too many false saviors. We can't trust happiness. We rise from our seats and cautiously step outside the doors of the jury pool room. Will the door slam shut on us? Could a buzz saw slice us in half for daring to leave? One by one, we scurry beyond the door frame, trying to avoid booby traps, quickly grabbing our certificates of appreciation.
Unaware of the outside's hypnotic call, we stagger through hallways and elevators with no clue where we are headed, only knowing, somehow, that we are going to a better place.
We are blinded upon opening the doors. We wince at the sight of the ball of flame above our heads. Is this the outside? Have we done it? What began as hundreds has ended as a handful. We are The Dismissed -- we survived a full day in the jury pool, a place where they break you to pieces and then keep the parts that matter. They took a part of my humanity I will never get back, and then made me think I was a sad bear. But I stole one of their pens. Retribution is mine, and so is the pen.
Luis was a sad bear the whole time. What a twist! You can find him on Twitter and Tumblr.
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For more from Luis, check out 5 Awful Traits Group Chats Bring Out In People and The 4 Steps Of Adjusting To A Whole New Group Of Friends.