The good times continue.
The phone rings. I pick up: "I need help," says a quavery voice. Is it my sister or my mom? It's my sister, who has been taking care of Mom. There is a litany of woe over there. Everything from: my mom discombobulated all of the televisions to my sister's car is parked up the street and she has a migraine and can't move it. It's kind-of a fuckfest.
The bro and I try to figure out logistics of how we can continue the work we need to do at Mom's house and rescue our sister. It occurs to me that many of the tasks have the earmark of mrguy, including an ability to buy feminine hygiene products without embarrassment. So he was drafted and bro and I went back to work. mrguy fixed many things for the family and then came to the ancestral house.
Then I had to call in about jury duty. Drew the short straw and had to appear in the afternoon. Turns out that if you drive 80mph you can get from Mom's to the courthouse in my county in time. I got called for the first group. I was juror 9. They asked if I'd ever had a bad experience with law enforcement. I was compelled to tell them about how the sheriff pulled me over for speeding and told me that if I stood on the corner in the rain he wouldn't cite me. The judge asked me if I reported him and I told her I was too afraid. So I got dismissed. I didn't mention the capper -- that he was missing one of his front teeth. I didn't think that they'd believe me.
Mom's > Courthouse > Mom's > Big Brown Box = 140 miles. Plus it was 103 degrees at the courthouse.