Chapter fifty-one:  Ma’am is that cilantro stuck in your teeth?

​After ten days of jury deliberation, we still cannot agree on a unanimous decision. I am the lone juror holding out.  I don’t think that the Costco squatter should serve time.  I think he is brilliant!  I want to contact Andy Cohen from Bravo TV and tell him instead of Bear Grylls showing people how to survive in the wilderness; the Costco squatter can show people how to survive in giant Flintstone like stores. This will be Bravos Running Wild!  It will be called:  “The real squatters of super-sized stores.”
My co- jurors have become increasingly hostile with me.  I want to remind them of my superior leadership, and unabashed ability to have had persuaded the Mexican cantina around the corner to send in Margaritas disguised as smoothies into our jury deliberation room.
They turn on me like a hungry pack of wolves. This is the thanks I get.  I silently sip my triple peach margarita housed in a 24 0z smoothie cup which I purchased, ironically, from Costco, disguised as a tropical smoothie. I mull over the task at hand.
Somewhere near the second to last slurp I have an epiphany!  I will vote for Costco squatter’s guilt and then come visit him in prison and write his memoirs!  I realize that I have lightning in a bottle with this epic idea!
I suck down the remaining margarita and after a short bout of brain freeze and a speedy recovery, startling my co- jurors; I jump up and shout Guilty!  I am interrogated by Egghead; “why the change of heart?” he arrogantly asks.  Professional memoir writer that I am, I refuse to reveal my true intentions.  I merely say: “After reviewing the facts I have come to the conclusion that my fellow jurors are correct.  Fish face eyes me suspiciously through her giant glasses. I sheepishly turn away.
I must not reveal my source.  I must behave non- challant  like Sally Field in that newspaper/ journalist movie she did years ago, willing to go to jail rather than reveal her true source.
Two hours later, we are released!  I sprint out of the front of the courthouse, and run around the block to the rear.  I wait for the prison transport van.
Costco squatter has gotten two years. He may be out earlier based on good behavior. I sent the judge a quick note asking her to perhaps consider throwing in an extra year or two on his sentence (I am afraid two years isn’t enough time for me to write my book).
After reading my note, the judge called me up to her bench, where she scolds me in a stern whisper.  But, her whisper is more like a gravelly shout.  Apparently Costco squatter and his attorney over hear.  They are furious with me!  Costco squatter tells me I had better watch my back!  He is handcuffed and dragged from the courtroom, yelling obscenities at me. I realize I will have to explain myself when I visit him in the big house tomorrow.  Hoping he will understand why I did what I did.
The bailiff  hands me a card and says to call that number if I am threatened at all.  I inform him that I was just threatened in front of him a mere moment ago. He squints his eyes and says “If it happens outside of the courthouse.”
Waiting, I telephone Confused husband and tell him what has happened.  He is monotone until he hears that I was threatened by the newly minted convict.  He excitedly asks if this means that he and one too many are going back to that fantastic safe house.  Shocked at his enthusiasm for my apparent looming perilous situation, I hang up on him.
Finally, Costco squatter exits with two deputies. I call “Yoo who!  and wave to him.  He flips me off.  I decide to deal with this tomorrow.
I head over to the Mexican cantina to say ” Adios” and have a farewell Margarita.  In the corner, I see my former fellow jurors. Fish Face is trying to hide behind the over-sized menu, but her over-sized glasses peep out around the sides of the menu.
I walk over and tap her on the shoulder.  I bend down and tell Egghead to get up from under the table. Javier my favorite waiter comes over with the Grande size Margarita. He also presents me with a cilantro infused guac.  I plop down next to Bug Swatter and declare my disdain for their covert trip to the cantina without moi.  Fish Face stutters and tries to make excuses.  I explain to her that albeit she wants to be the only skirt in this group of trousers, if it weren’t for this skirt here, and my ability to lead, they wouldn’t be sitting here in the VIP section of the cantina. (Javier nods his head in agreement.)  I continue on my soap box with my diatribe of guilt, pausing every few minutes for emphasis, and to wolf down some guacamole.
Exhausted from my reprimand, I stop and wait for the apologies to flow.  All I get is “You have cilantro stuck in your teeth.”