2004-04-27
End of duty
continued....because I know y'all were just dyin' to find out how this ended...
I wearily entered the courthouse on this, what was purported to be my final day of jury duty. I was feeling mightily let down by the entire justice system at this point, from the lawyers to the surly guards scanning my bag upon entrance. I had been told, by the literature which was sent to me when first I was summoned, that I would get to "make difficult judgements involving all the human passions - love, hate, greed, anger, etc." Thus far I was only coming to pretty easily-arrived-at judgements concerning all the human defects: stupidity, laziness, stupidity, self-entitlement, stupidity, and stupidity. I will say that I was learning a great deal about narcolepsy, however.
Today was the day we would hear from the snarky defense attorney, who clearly knew that it would not take 2 full days of testimony to prove that the plaintiff was in no way so disabled by this accident that she couldn't do anything except try her hand at giving facials.
We heard from a neurosurgeon who had examined the young lady, and basically said that there was just no reason for her to have had back surgery, if she was really and truly making an effort at her physical therapy. That was pretty much the gist of it: this girl is 21 years old, is fully capable of working, and does not need $500 grand to lessen her great suffering at being unable to walk down a runway in high heels.
We heard the closing arguments, and then got a rather lengthy speech from the judge, telling us that as tempting as it might be to take a vote at the outset, this could result in a juror digging in her heels at the start of deliberations (she really wasn't making eye contact with me as she said this....really), and emphasizing again what a grand and glorious service we were providing. The "foreperson" was then selected, based on the fact that according to the juror profile, she was the mother of two teenagers and therefore MUST be good at moderating heated discussions.
I was ready to get in there and do some deliberatin', even though I was clearly, horribly, glaringly biased. I'd sat on this jury all week and I deserved to deliberate, damn it. Bring it on! I wanted my free sandwich from the Corporate Chef's Cafeteria, and I wanted -- nay, craved -- deliberation.
A brief pause, then, "As you know, there are 14 persons on this jury, two of whom are alternates. This means that the 2 alternates will be sequestered from the rest of the jury while deliberations are being made. In the event that one of the 12 cannot complete the deliberation process, one of the alternates will be called in. We will now read the names of the alternates."
THEY CALLED MY FUCKING NAME.
Court Officer Candy then pulled me, and the other unfortunate wretch from the jury box. Banished from the Garden! We were walked clear down the hall, into an unused jury room with no television and no reading material, and told that we couldn't discuss the trial with one another, that someone would come get us when the verdict was reached, but that we would be allowed first dibs on the sandwiches before the rest of the jury. That's right -- we were such personae non grata that we could not even be in the same room as the "real" jurors to pick out a sandwich.
"I'll letchas know when lunch is ready," Court Officer Candy said as she shut the door on us.
My fellow ostracized juror practically burst into tears. She had been in the same row, clear on the other end. Bookends we were, destined to share the same laughably horrific fate. She looked at me and simply said, "What in the fucking fuck?"
I liked her immediately.
Even though we were told not to discuss the case, in the event that someone died in the middle of deliberations, we both began reliving the "highlights" of the case with gusto. We were both of the opinion that the plaintiff was a lying sack, and yeah, maybe her back hurt, but it certainly didn't hurt to the tune of $500,000.00.
"We must have been obviously unsympathetic."
"Indeed."
"We should make Court Officer Candy go get us some magazines."
And so we hung out for about 2 hours, picking at our sandwiches, calling on our cellphones to share our misery with various loved ones ("No, I'm NOT fucking kidding.") and looking balefully out the windows at the hustle and bustle of the Financial District below. People buying coffee, dodging panhandlers, engaging in various acts of commerce, all the while oblivious to the great suffering of two banished jurors just 5 floors above it all. There was a chalkboard in our second-class jury room, but no chalk, leading my co-sufferer to ruefully observe that we couldn't even play "fucking hangman" to while away the time.
At long last, Court Officer Candy fetched us and brought us back to the courtroom. Since we were no longer part of the jury, we didn't even get to sit in the box as they delivered the obvious verdict, FOR the defendant. Our hapless heroine did not get her $500K, but a week later, I got a check from the Commonwealth for 50 bucks.
fin
lisamcc at 10:41 a.m.
3 comments so far
Melanie
2004-04-27 12:06:52
Don't that beat all. Our justice system at work, indeed. They probably voted that way on the off chance that someone might someday give *them* $500K to lead a life of leisure.
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Jocelyn
2004-04-27 13:50:34
Oh my God! That SUCKS. I can't even imagine... At least Ms. Fulloshit didn't prevail. Does that give you at least a little more faith in the American system of jurisprudence? HA!!
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Lexi
2004-04-27 14:38:03
I laughed, I cried, I played Hangman with myself for ten minutes smack in the middle of a workday. Tis divine.
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