Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Jury Doody
Recently, I took part in the revered, time-honored civic responsibility we in America call jury duty. It was, I must say, everything I expected it would be. I knew I would witness emotional breakdowns, people squirming under questioning, and outright lies. What I didn’t expect was that I would see all this during the jury selection process.
It really was quite shameful how many of the individuals called for this privilege attempted to shirk their duty. In fact, if there hadn’t been so many people working so hard at weaseling out with their obviously, phony “excuses,” I wouldn’t have run out of mine so quickly. Apparently, he who hesitates is not only lost, but gets to sit through three days of testimony as well.
As it turns out, real trials are nothing like trials you see on sitcoms, television dramas, or movies. The lawyers in the case I was on were not hostile toward each other in a vain attempt to mask their true, romantic feelings for one another. They were, in fact, quite civil toward each other. Of course, both lawyers in this case were men, so I really didn’t expect (or want to see) that anyway. Another difference was that, during this trial, none of the bailiffs had to spring from their seats and physically subdue an out-of-control witness or defendant. The only things these bailiffs had to restrain were their own yawns. As for wrapping the case up neatly at the end of a short half-hour, one-hour, or, at most, two-hour time period, forget it.
So we the jury sat for three days taking notes on the testimony being given, rebutted, and reaffirmed. At least we looked like we were taking notes. It’s quite fascinating how many synonyms for boring one can come up with in three days. It’s also interesting to see how many creative lettering styles one can use to write said synonyms. But wasting time in such an obviously juvenile way was not all I managed to do during this time. I also exceeded my personal best at hangman; I won 17 out of the twenty-one games I played with jurors 11 and 13.
Finally the time came for the judge’s instructions for the jury. The bailiffs handed out 13 fifteen-page packets containing the judge’s instructions, which he then proceeded to read as slowly as possible. Apparently, his Honor mistook us for foreigners who, as everyone knows, understand things perfectly when they are spoken to ever so slowly. When he was through, the lawyers began their closing arguments, where they put their spin on the testimony, each recounting the evidence that supported his claim. This is simply a more civil version of the “did not/did too” argument we used to have when we were kids: “Johnny did it.” “No he didn’t.” “Did too.” “Did not!” “You’re a doodyhead!” “No, you’re a doodyhead!” And so on and so forth. The latter argument would, of course, be much more entertaining.
Before the jury is herded into the tiny room where they’ll spend hours deciding whether the defendant did or didn’t do what he or she is accused of, one of the 13 must be dismissed. The title given to this individual is the “alternate.” People who really know the score call this person the “sucker;” what else would you call someone who wasted three days and didn’t get to have a say in the fate of the accused. As it turns out, I was the sucker…uh…the alternate. Any way, the judge was extremely gracious in dismissing me. At least I think he was. It’s hard to hear well when you’re whooping it up and cartwheeling to the nearest exit.
It really was quite shameful how many of the individuals called for this privilege attempted to shirk their duty. In fact, if there hadn’t been so many people working so hard at weaseling out with their obviously, phony “excuses,” I wouldn’t have run out of mine so quickly. Apparently, he who hesitates is not only lost, but gets to sit through three days of testimony as well.
As it turns out, real trials are nothing like trials you see on sitcoms, television dramas, or movies. The lawyers in the case I was on were not hostile toward each other in a vain attempt to mask their true, romantic feelings for one another. They were, in fact, quite civil toward each other. Of course, both lawyers in this case were men, so I really didn’t expect (or want to see) that anyway. Another difference was that, during this trial, none of the bailiffs had to spring from their seats and physically subdue an out-of-control witness or defendant. The only things these bailiffs had to restrain were their own yawns. As for wrapping the case up neatly at the end of a short half-hour, one-hour, or, at most, two-hour time period, forget it.
So we the jury sat for three days taking notes on the testimony being given, rebutted, and reaffirmed. At least we looked like we were taking notes. It’s quite fascinating how many synonyms for boring one can come up with in three days. It’s also interesting to see how many creative lettering styles one can use to write said synonyms. But wasting time in such an obviously juvenile way was not all I managed to do during this time. I also exceeded my personal best at hangman; I won 17 out of the twenty-one games I played with jurors 11 and 13.
Finally the time came for the judge’s instructions for the jury. The bailiffs handed out 13 fifteen-page packets containing the judge’s instructions, which he then proceeded to read as slowly as possible. Apparently, his Honor mistook us for foreigners who, as everyone knows, understand things perfectly when they are spoken to ever so slowly. When he was through, the lawyers began their closing arguments, where they put their spin on the testimony, each recounting the evidence that supported his claim. This is simply a more civil version of the “did not/did too” argument we used to have when we were kids: “Johnny did it.” “No he didn’t.” “Did too.” “Did not!” “You’re a doodyhead!” “No, you’re a doodyhead!” And so on and so forth. The latter argument would, of course, be much more entertaining.
Before the jury is herded into the tiny room where they’ll spend hours deciding whether the defendant did or didn’t do what he or she is accused of, one of the 13 must be dismissed. The title given to this individual is the “alternate.” People who really know the score call this person the “sucker;” what else would you call someone who wasted three days and didn’t get to have a say in the fate of the accused. As it turns out, I was the sucker…uh…the alternate. Any way, the judge was extremely gracious in dismissing me. At least I think he was. It’s hard to hear well when you’re whooping it up and cartwheeling to the nearest exit.
Labels: jury duty
