2004-03-24
Jury Duty 2
continued...
I must say, that I entered the courthouse with a bizarre sense of belonging. I was now, after all, a juror. I sailed through the metal detector, feeling a sense of kinship with the guards, even the one who made me put my bike messenger bag through the X-ray machine twice, because of my knitting needles.
I bounded up the stairs to the jury room, wondering what sort of marvelous friendships I would strike up with the other 13 souls that the Fates had seen fit to throw my way. Would we all bond in our common pursuit of justice? Go out for an after-trial Fresca?
I entered the room with a booming "Mornin'!" and was met with a chorus of grunts. Sluggo was engrossed in the Boston Herald sports section, pushing it across the table to the only other male juror at varying intervals, gesturing here and there and growling, "Whaddid I TELL ya? Huh? HUH?!" The other male would then chuckle knowingly. This made me extraordinarily nervous.
Court Officer Candy, trim and pert in her uniform, came in and asked if we had any questions. More grunts. Shrugs. We were instructed to line up in order of our seats in the jury box, which confused us. Some shuffling around, and we were ready to go.
It was at this point that I noticed that the microphone on the jury box was affixed to the ledge with a binder clip held down with duct tape. My tax dollars at work.
First witness was the plaintiff herself, a conventionally pretty -- if rather sullen -- young lady. The older of her two attorneys again painted the picture of a formerly happy-go-lucky teenager cruelly snatched from the halcyon days of late adolescence by this horrible, HORRIBLE accident, which scraped the side of her mother's car and left her a virtual invalid. She tried waitressing for a week, but the trays were too heavy. She then attempted modelling, but they make you wear really high heels and stuff. A semester at a nearby community college proved impossible, as she could not carry her books from class to class. Finally, she studied for, and achieved, a certificate as an aesthetician, trained to administer facials. However, a single 45 minute facial proved to be too taxing, and it's hard to get a job doing facials when you can only do one a day. I am not making any of this up, chickens.
At this point I would like to emphasize that I am in no way making light of serious back injuries. A herniated disc, I understand, is extraordinarily painful. But I was having a verrrrrydifficult time listening to this young lady's testimony and buying her claims of grievous bodily harm and inability to work.
To add insult to injury, I was discovering that Sluggo, directly behind me, seemed to have an ongoing issue with narcolepsy. He would literally start snoring. When he wasn't catching a few winks, he would attempt to stay awake by periodically smacking himself in the leg.
The snarky defense attorney then took the floor. They rehashed what had been established earlier: the MRI's, the consultations with the orthopedic surgeon, the physical therapy appointments in 1998 and 1999. He then asked her if she recalled meeting with a psychiatrist in January of 2003.
"Um. No."
"You don't remember speaking with this psychiatrist?"
"No. No, I don't."
"And you don't remember speaking with him about your depression, and that you didn't think it was related to your accident."
"I don't remember that."
"So, then you don't remember seeing this psychiatrist again in April of 2003, after he had prescribed Paxil for your depression, and reporting that you were feeling better?"
"No, I....wait, I think I do remember that, maybe."
SURVEY SAYS: what the FUCK? You don't remember seeing a psychiatrist last year?
She was then asked if she'd attempted any other jobs beyond what she had testified to. Office work? Temp agencies?
"Well, no, because I would think that in an office kind of job, you'd have to stay sitting down for a long time, and that hurts my back, too."
It really was all I could do to keep my lower jaw out of my lap, so aghast was I at this point. My butt was asleep, Sluggo was snorting and blubbering behind me like an aged bulldog, and I was starting to seriously consider telling Court Officer Candy that there was no way I could cling any longer to my last fraying shreds of impartiality.
more later....
lisamcc at 9:30 p.m.
4 comments so far
big bob
2004-03-24 21:46:20
HEY! im the guy who snores behind you!!! dont make fun of me!! actually i just wanted to say you write good.
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jerrbear
2004-03-30 17:10:08
So...when do we get the gripping/griping conclusion? I'm on the edge of my seat here! [yawn]
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Lisa
2004-03-30 21:41:30
Yeah, I know. I suck. 'nkay?
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S. Decay
2004-04-02 08:01:29
I feel all empty inside and it was raining all day yesterday. I demand compensation! Thank you for your civic responsibility; American democracy requires that its cleverer members see how silly it is in practice.
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