I recently had an experience that could only be described as uplifting and challenging; something that made me proud to be an American. Yes, I was summoned for jury duty. (Isn't "duty" a funny word? Just saying it makes you want to laugh.)

For my forty plus years, I have been lucky (?) in so much that I never got called for jury duty. When friends and family members around me received their summonses, I used to snicker, chuckle and, once, even guffawed facetiously. ("Jury duty? Hey, luck you." Snicker-snicker, chuckle-chuckle, guffaw-guffaw.)

After a while, it became annoying. Why were these people selected and I wasn't? What did I have? B.O.? Was there a special list of people excluded from jury duty, because they like to make questionable sculptures with fresh produce in the supermarket? It was becoming apparent that something was up.

Then, one day, to my delight and excitement, I received a summons to appear for jury duty. At last I could feel the same emotions my brothers and sisters before me felt when they were called. I could now understand what went through their minds when they reached into their mailboxes and pulled out this official document requesting their presence at the County Court House to fulfill their obligation as a citizen of this fair land. That must be why my initial instinct was to try to find a way to get out of this thing. (Since I'm not a policeman, a fireman, a nurse, an ambulance driver, or, a golf pro, it looked like I was going to have to serve.)

I explained to my employer that I was going to serve on jury duty for a week and that I would need the time off. My employer said, "Jury duty? Hey, lucky you." (Snicker-snicker, chuckle-chuckle, guffaw-guffaw.)

My first day, Monday, was a day of introductions as all of us gathered in this one large room where we sat and waited to be called upstairs. The first thing they did was have roll-call. (Actually, it was number-call, since they called out our juror number to which we answered, "Here!" or "Present" or "Bingo!") Out of the nearly one thousand juror numbers, there were only three or four hundred present. (Apparently, there are more golf pros in this country than I thought.)

Since my number was 792, it wasn't until the end of Tuesday before our block of numbers got called. Actually, I was glad, because, up until then, all there was to do was watch television, (Hint: There is nothing on after Live with Regis and Kelly.)read old magazines, (Cover of Entertainment Weekly - "Lillian Russell Appearing Nightly") or talk to the woman next to me who went into an extensive account of her gall bladder surgery.

I finally got chosen to sit on a jury where one sleazoid company was suing another sleazoid company. The trial was to begin Wednesday morning, but several of the witnesses were sick and could not be present. So, we went back to watching television, (Today on Montel, "Men Who Have Driven Through the Lincoln Tunnel and Come Out Women") reading old magazines, (Cover of Business Weekly - Ford Introduces Model "T")or listening to the guy next to me explain, in horrid detail, the pain of hair plugs.

On Thursday, after waiting in the jury room for the trial to start, the judge called us in and declared a mistrial, since the plaintiff and the defendant apologized, kissed and made up and opened a My Favorite Muffin together.

I understand it will be two years before I can be called for jury duty again. This is good, because it will give me plenty of time to come up with an excuse to get out of it. I'm pretty sure I can drive an ambulance.