I had a few days off last week, and boy was I ready for a vacation.

As you've probably read, the newspaper business is struggling, so the stress level at work has been quite high.

Oh, wait. You probably hadn't read that. I guess that's part of the problem.

Anyway, I had been looking forward to time away from the office. My parents were flying in from South Dakota on March 4, and I was imagining a fun, relaxing stretch at home.

So you can imagine my chagrin when, a couple of weeks before my vacation, I received notice that I had been selected for jury duty during my days off.

That chagrin changed to anger when I called the prospective jurors' hotline last Wednesday night and found out that I had to report to the courthouse bright and early the next morning.

You mean I have to get up at 6:30 a.m. on my day off so I can get downtown in time for jury duty? And I may have to stay all day? While my parents are visiting? And when I know there is NO WAY any prosecutor or defense attorney is going to choose for a jury an editor who often works with the police and courts reporters?

I fumed all night, but I didn't want to face a day in court, so I set my alarm and prepared for my day at court.

I was still mumbling angrily to myself as I got up and got ready. And as I rode TRAX downtown. And as I sat in a little room with 21 other people who were having similar nasty thoughts.

But then my attitude began to change.

The young man who was in charge of telling us what we would be doing that day was pleasant and entertaining, sympathizing with our feelings of disgruntlement. We filled out a questionnaire and watched a 1980s-era video about what it means to serve on a jury. It was fairly cheesy, but it struck a chord about "civic duty."

(The most amusing part was when one potential juror, who was not selected, wondered what he did wrong and was shown leaving the courthouse, looking dejected. Our handler for the morning told us he hoped none of us would be so forlorn if we faced a similar fate.)

After watching the video, we filled out pay forms. A bit later, the cashier came in with little manila envelopes, each crammed full of $18.50 in cold, hard cash — our pay for the day's efforts.

By the time we lined up and entered the courtroom, I was surprised to realize that I was interested in the prospect of serving on a jury. And as the judge asked us questions to determine our suitability to hear the case, I grew even more intrigued.

However, as predicted, I was not one of the four chosen jurors. I was out of the courthouse before noon, just three hours after I arrived.