The Day Juror Pixi Didn't Want to be Juror Anymore

On the tube into court that morning Juror-Pixi fantasised about being released early. After two weeks of waiting she didn't even want a case anymore. She just wanted to go home and read her work-in-revision and apply for jobs and be productive and maybe even nap.

At Euston station, where she made the Victoria-Northern line switch there was an idiot busker playing the sax. Flourescent lights had no shKit on the sax. One thing that made Pixi hiss worse than Christopher Lee getting woken up from his vampire-slumber at 1 in the afternoon, was the sax.

Some of the coolest music could sound cheesy coming out of the sax. It made Pixi feel all kinds of embarrassing things like 80s fashion; and haircuts; and studs in cheesy mostachios; and splitting into an idiot grin at inappropriate moments; and basically really bad sax music; and worse of all, people who played it with heart and soul like it was the most transporting thing in the world.

So when the tube driver announced that their train would be held on the platform for a few minutes, just as the sax-man started putting his heart into dancing Queen, Pixi's stomach sank and she had a shiverry feeling it was gonna be a long, tiresome day without the least bit of wit or inspiration.

Eventually the train shut it's doors and moved, The sax disseapeared, and Pixi got a seat. Unfortunately a man in a pair of offensively skinny jeans, came and stood right in her line of vision. For the rest of her journey Pixi sat trying to avoid looking at the chicken legs of Mr. Skinny-jeans. It appeared that he'd spent some effort on his attire that morning, because as if his leggs weren't embarrassing enough, he seemed to be peacocking at God only knew who. It was almost as embarrassing as the sax. When the passanger next to Pixi got off, Skinny-jeans found recourse from his chickeny display by taking the vacant seat. Pixi was so happy she nearly missed her stop

At court, Juror-Pixi's morning passed with intervals of Kerouac and conversation with her Lebanese friend who shared her birthday. By 1pm, her wish had come true. Stripped of her Juror smartcard, and her Juror hat, Pixi walked out of Southark Crown Court a freerer, wiser but sadder Pixi.