12.02.2004
Jury Duty
I was summoned to jury duty today. Well, not just jury duty…but rather, GRAND jury duty. What is GRAND jury duty you ask? Well, I thought GRAND meant an “elevated civic status”, or, VIP…you know, a green room stocked with fabulous French pastries, gourmet coffee, aromatherapy, foot masseuse, all topped off with no more than one hour of actual “work”. What my naïve mind failed to understand was that serving on a GRAND Jury meant committing to 2 days a week (8hrs a day) for the next 5 months.
Okay, rewind.
When I told friends about my summons, I received a lot of advice on how to get OUT of jury duty. Suggestions included inappropriate social behavior, declaring a talent of spotting guilty people a mile away (by George Carlin, via Allyson), and explaining my aversion to crime scene photos (which reminds me…that drag queen CSI episode was s-c-a-r-y!). All these proposals, while tempting, were ultimately useless against my conscience. I couldn’t do it. So off I went, conscience in tow, to the courthouse for my “interview”.
I was #68 of 70 people called to serve. Of the 70, the judge had to choose 24 for the GRAND jury (16 jurors, 8 alternates). After initially eliminating about 30 people (with questions of physical or financial hardship, the judge called his 24. I hadn’t been called so I thought I was free and clear to leave. That’s when the fire alarm sounded...literally. No biggie, I thought. Well, I forgot that we were on floor 9…the absolute TOP of the building and had to use the stairwell to exit the building. Things went surprisingly smoothly and we were back in the courtroom within about 20 minutes (apparently, the alarm was the due to a neglected bagel on the 3rd floor). So, as I was saying…my name hadn’t been called and I thought I was free to go. Unfortunately, the judge still had questions to ask the 24…these questions meant more people being excused, which meant more people being called, which meant I might become VIP. So for the next hour or so I sat, heart racing, anticipating the lotto. It was very stressful because although I accepted any outcome, I was at the edge of my seat trying to predict who’d drop out. I felt like I was on the Price Is Right (or, rather, the Name Is Wrong) I winced every time someone was excused.
Okay, tangent.
The group dynamics involved in this jury selection were interesting to watch. The judge would ask a question and a number of people would raise their hands, an indication that they wouldn’t be able to serve for some reason. He would then question them to determine the validity of their excuse. I watched as grown adults turned into 7 year olds using the word “um” over and over to explain their excuse like they were talking to their elementary school teacher. Even more disturbing was how, after a couple of rounds of this questioning, more and more people began raising their hands because they “forgot that one time when um, blah blah blah blah, um, blah…that would thereby render them partial”. Um, yeah. All this not only annoyed me, but increased my sitting heart rate to well over 100bpm.
The Finale.
After all the drama (and eyeball rolling), the judge had his 24…and I was one of 5 still left in the pool. He first thanked, and then dismissed us to enjoy our 5 months of freedom. I felt the blood slowly crawl back into my face. I stood up slowly, nodded to the judge, then followed the other 4 lucky winners out the first set of doors. We broke into a sprint out the second set of doors, past the people waiting for the elevators, and back into the stairwell, where we were content to race down 9 floors to freedom.
I still can’t believe I made it through AND I am proud to report that my conscience is still intact:)
Okay, rewind.
When I told friends about my summons, I received a lot of advice on how to get OUT of jury duty. Suggestions included inappropriate social behavior, declaring a talent of spotting guilty people a mile away (by George Carlin, via Allyson), and explaining my aversion to crime scene photos (which reminds me…that drag queen CSI episode was s-c-a-r-y!). All these proposals, while tempting, were ultimately useless against my conscience. I couldn’t do it. So off I went, conscience in tow, to the courthouse for my “interview”.
I was #68 of 70 people called to serve. Of the 70, the judge had to choose 24 for the GRAND jury (16 jurors, 8 alternates). After initially eliminating about 30 people (with questions of physical or financial hardship, the judge called his 24. I hadn’t been called so I thought I was free and clear to leave. That’s when the fire alarm sounded...literally. No biggie, I thought. Well, I forgot that we were on floor 9…the absolute TOP of the building and had to use the stairwell to exit the building. Things went surprisingly smoothly and we were back in the courtroom within about 20 minutes (apparently, the alarm was the due to a neglected bagel on the 3rd floor). So, as I was saying…my name hadn’t been called and I thought I was free to go. Unfortunately, the judge still had questions to ask the 24…these questions meant more people being excused, which meant more people being called, which meant I might become VIP. So for the next hour or so I sat, heart racing, anticipating the lotto. It was very stressful because although I accepted any outcome, I was at the edge of my seat trying to predict who’d drop out. I felt like I was on the Price Is Right (or, rather, the Name Is Wrong) I winced every time someone was excused.
Okay, tangent.
The group dynamics involved in this jury selection were interesting to watch. The judge would ask a question and a number of people would raise their hands, an indication that they wouldn’t be able to serve for some reason. He would then question them to determine the validity of their excuse. I watched as grown adults turned into 7 year olds using the word “um” over and over to explain their excuse like they were talking to their elementary school teacher. Even more disturbing was how, after a couple of rounds of this questioning, more and more people began raising their hands because they “forgot that one time when um, blah blah blah blah, um, blah…that would thereby render them partial”. Um, yeah. All this not only annoyed me, but increased my sitting heart rate to well over 100bpm.
The Finale.
After all the drama (and eyeball rolling), the judge had his 24…and I was one of 5 still left in the pool. He first thanked, and then dismissed us to enjoy our 5 months of freedom. I felt the blood slowly crawl back into my face. I stood up slowly, nodded to the judge, then followed the other 4 lucky winners out the first set of doors. We broke into a sprint out the second set of doors, past the people waiting for the elevators, and back into the stairwell, where we were content to race down 9 floors to freedom.
I still can’t believe I made it through AND I am proud to report that my conscience is still intact:)
