2004-03-20
Jury duty, pt. 1
I spent all last week on jury duty. I was summoned by the Commonwealth to appear on Monday, to fulfill my civic obligation, and said obligation came to a sputtering, anti-climactic conclusion on Friday afternoon. Aren't you chickens lucky that I brought my notebook along?
Woke up at 6. Was on the train by 7:15. Perhaps I was projecting my own misery onto the other occupants of the subway car, but it seemed like EVERYBODY was headed to the McCormack courthouse on Devonshire; there was just this palpable air of resignation. At Back Bay station, the sounds of a busker playing "Battle Hymn of the Republic" on a steel drum. This was hilarious, to be sure, but I'm certain that I was the only one who caught the irony; I wasn't about to make eye contact with someone else who might have caught on.
I get my little yellow card, which reads "Panel #2, Seat #12." I am certain to get on a jury with such a low number -- my reward for taking my summons at face value and showing up promptly at 8 AM. People continue to filter in all the way up to 9:30, when we get a warm welcome from one of the judges, telling us what fine, upstanding citizens we are for being here -- nay, for even filling out the card and returning it -- as most people don't even go that far. He goes on to quote Emerson, in such a way that the woman seated next to me and I simultaneously mutter, "He got the quote wrong." We look at each other and smile.
The Commonwealth has what they call a "one-day, one-trial" system, which means you either get on a jury, or spend most of the day being shuttled from courtroom to courtroom until they figure out they don't need you. Either way, you've fulfilled your obligation. In the meantime, we are encouraged to purchase coffee at the Corporate Chef's Cafeteria, to keep us ever-vigilant and ready-to-serve.
The paunchy balding guy behind me has heeded the advice of our keepers. I've been mentally referring to him as "Sluggo." Sluggo has been providing the entire jury pool with a running commentary on the morning's activities: "Hey, look -- they got KENO in here!" (in reference to the television sets bolted to the ceilings, so we could be shown a 17-minute film on the jury system that I distinctly remember being shown the last two times I was summoned in '93 and '99). "Well, it's bettah than scratch cahhds, right? They'd be outta a shitload a'money if we all got scratch cahhhhds, right?" "Lookit this. Wouldja get a load'a this bullshit. One payphone. Mothah'a God. Couple hundred freakin' people and one payphone." After a bit, he fell silent, until he started snoring.
The court officers are getting harassed by a handful of disgruntled poolers wielding briefcases. "We're gonna try and get everybody outta here as soon as we can, okay ma'am? I understand where you're comin' from, but don't take it out on us, huh?" These grizzled folks are the undeniable masters of insouciance. They really manage to convey the fact that they don't give a shit.
Finally, they called Panels 1 - 5. Crammed us all into a closet-sized courtroom on the third floor. The case involved a young lady who was suing a truckdriver for injuries sustained in an accident that took place in 1998. I audibly groaned at this. Next, we were hit with a long question-and-answer session. Did we know the plaintiff? The defendant? The high school guidance counselor summoned to testify that the plaintiff missed a wicked lot of school because her back hurt so much? Did we have any vested interest in the outcome?
Even with the inward assurance that you won't be asked to take a seat, the selection process is kinda stressful. Anybody who answered "yes" to any of the judge's questions was hauled over to the sidebar to explain their bias or "hardship." Lots of people claimed the former, to no avail, in most cases. That's how it went for about a half-hour -- they would set up an entire jury (12 angry people and 2 angry -- although as-yet-to-be-named -- alternates), only to have the lawyers challenge as many as 3 at a time. The aforementioned film instructed us to "not take it personally" if we were challenged. I don't think there was any danger of that; the challenged folks seemed delighted as hell to step down.
Naturally, due to my low number and the fact that I really couldn't claim any bias or hardship, other than the fact that I knew this was gonna be an ambulance-chaser case, I got seated and stayed seated 'til the bitter end. Many people have tried-and-true ways to get out of being on a jury (one acquaintance swears by claiming that he knows someone on the police force of the town in which the crime/case occurred), but I'm really trying to practice this "total honesty in all my affairs" thing. You'll see just how I was "rewarded" for this later on.
Interestingly enough, Sluggo got on this jury as well. Our court officer, Candy (I am not making this up), brought us into the jury room, where we would be gathering for the rest of the week. We got the low-down of what we could expect, another plug for the Corporate Chef's Cafeteria, and then were told to "sit tight" until we were summoned back in to hear the opening arguments.
Court Officer Candy brought us back in. We got another "good citizen" speech from the judge, and then the lawyers launched into their arguments. Sure enough, the attorney for the plaintiff had that personal-injury-lawyer-commercial-aired-between-"Jerry Springer"-and-"All My Children"-vibe. In fact, I'm quite certain I've seen him on such an advertisement on those days when I've been out sick from work: "If YOU'VE been injured in an automobile accident, you DESERVE COMPENSATION. I'm gonna make sure you GET WHAT'S YOURS, and THAT'S THAT." And now back to Ricki Lake!
The plaintiff, according to this fellow (an older gentleman with a series of bad suits and no lower teeth, who had a co-counsel who resembled John-Malkovich-as-"Mr. Clean"), was once a "happy, normal teenager" until this accident rendered her miserable and unable to work at a job for longer than a week at a stretch. As such, she was seeking half a million dollars for "lost wages and productivity." Dear me. I'm afraid I'm not sounding particularly impartial. I spent much of the week battling this, trying very hard to maintain some objectivity, and feeling slightly bad about the very catty things I was thinking. Slightly.
The defense attorney was young, handsome, and rather snarky and self-congratulatory. I kinda liked him, although I'm genetically predisposed to dislike lawyers (a trait handed down from my maternal grandfather, Big Neil Flaherty). As I would later describe him to a fellow juror, one got the sense that as soon as he was done with this trial, he was gonna go to the gym, go have a couple vodka-tonics over at Elephant & Castle, then go home and bang the wife.
to be continued, chickens...
lisamcc at 11:51 a.m.
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