So I got that letter we all hope to see in our mailboxes some day--"Jury Duty." Unfortunately, the date was set for December, which is the busy season for 80s rock stars so I had it deferred until January. Knowing the importance of doing my civic duty as a juror, I picked my best gonna-convict-a-murderer clothing. I put on my, shiny silver disco ball shirt, leather pants, a spiky belt, Chuck Taylors, and of course one must wear a tie so I picked my skinny black and white checkered tie. My ensemble was not quite complete though. It was the hair. I needed something to brighten up this dull attire. So I spiked up my hair with blue and red gel. Perfect. I pulled out my video camera to document it for my Survivor audition tape. I shot about 5 seconds and had to run out the door.

Upon arriving at the court I found airport-style security. I set off the metal detector repeatedly. I don't think I made any friends there. The security guard looked at me with contempt and yelled "What are you wearing?" I opened my jacket to show him my sophisticated court ensemble and he just shook his head and said "take it off, take off everything metal." After a few more trips through the metal detector I was in the clear.

I made my way to the juror waiting room where I had to wait in a rather long line to check in. When I got to the front of the line I realized I had found a friend. There she was, an older lady, handing out paperwork with a black and white checkered jacket on. I held up my tie and said "Look, we match!" She rolled her eyes and hung her head in shame as she handed me the paperwork and quietly muttered in monotone, "Fill this out, bring it back, and file it under the first letter of your last name." This was a challenge for me. Like many 80s rock stars I only have one name: "Bistie."

I took a seat and began to fill out my paperwork. The place was packed with nowhere to sit but for some strange reason I had open seats all around me. I didn't have B.O. I actually got some really nice cologne for Christmas and I smelled fantastic. I heard some muttering and giggling around me, perhaps I sat in the no sitting zone. I made an effort to finish my paperwork quickly so as not to get ticketed for this sitting violation.

Finally, we were sent up to the courtroom. As I walked in the bailiff clearly took note of my style, then the prosecuting attorney's eyes just about popped right out of his head. You know he was wishing he had worn this outfit that day. Then the Judge entered the room. He immediately noticed my style and class. As he was explaining the proceedings to the prospective jurors he spent about 90% of his time looking right at me. It came time to ask if any prospective jurors needed a deferral and we found out that about half of us were college students that are starting back to school just about the time this trial will be starting. So all of the students were deferred until June. This didn't leave us with enough prospective jurors to continue the process of "voir dire." So we were told we would have to go home and be combined with another group of jurors the next day. "Damn, I really brought out my Sunday best for today," I thought. "What will I wear tomorrow?"

The next morning, I awoke inspired. I put on a bright red shirt with black velvet flames, a turquoise zebra-striped bandana, and of course since the leather pants, Chucks, and spiky belt were such a big hit, I had to go with those again. My hair had to be even more spectacular than it was the day before, so I did it up right.

When I arrived at the courthouse, there was a female security guard. "Are you gonna sing for us?" she asked. "I can if you want," I replied. You know, what the hell, why not? "You look like you're a musician," she said, and told me that she sang in a gospel choir and was a jazz singer. "You've got your own style," she told me. "You go ahead and do your thang."

I got up to the courtroom where we were to meet, we went in, and continued the process. When we were sent on a break, I spoke with a very nice retired lady and a guy that went to high school with Tom Fogerty and Paul Kantner. The bailiff came out and read a list of names of people that the judge and attorneys wanted to meet with individually. My name was on that list. Surely they had noticed my impeccable sense of 80s rock star style and they wanted me to decide the fate of an alleged murderer. I was the second one they called. Hooray, I made the top two! When it was my turn to go in the bailiff called my name once again and as I was walking in the courtroom he asked, "By the way, that shirt you were wearing yesterday, do you just clean that with Windex?" I walked in, sat down, and the Judge asked me a couple of questions and then I was dismissed. "That went well," I thought. Moments later I was handed a blue slip that read "Excused from Service."

I wonder what went wrong? We all know it wasn't my style.

Earlier fun that you may have missed:
Fast Times in Simlish
The "Pants" Joke
Our Favorite Completely Wrong Lyrics
Fast Times In and Out of Jury Duty
Fast Times: The Magazine
Fast Times Takes the Cake
FTWTF?