the whole truth. and nothing but...

I had jury duty today. I don't mind serving jury duty. It's kinda like a really boring vacation. You get a day off of work, get to read a book and get a few bucks for your trouble (or hardship, which seemed to be the prefered nomenclature). I've served a couple times and never even got called to a panel, so, of course, I was in the first group called.

Entering a courtroom was a much more awe inspiring experience than I thought it would be. Maybe because it looked so much like the ones I'd seen on television. It was like entering an episode of Law & Order--with the late, great Jerry Orbach and everything. I don't know why the courtroom was so intimidating; maybe it was all the wood. The room wasn't very big as far as width and length, but it was very tall, and huge wood panels covered the walls. Maybe it was because I'd just gotten three hours sleep, but I was kinda freaked.

The last time I'd been in front of a judge was at a courtroom at the DMV to contest an equipment ticket I'd gotten for a busted tail light. According to New York law, I think (at least at the time), as long as you got it fixed within 24 hours, you could get the ticket thrown out without paying it. You just had to provide a receipt. I did get it fixed, however, I did so through the fabled "all Italian network," meaning, my cousin sent me to this guy who ran a junkyard, who gave me a part and charged me with simply telling my cousin "he said hello" and then my friend replaced the busted tail lights. A receipt magically appeared stating that I had indeed taken care of the tail lights in the prescribed 24-hour period, and, when I presented said evidence to the cantankerous, and unfortunately observant judge, I may or may not have been entirely forthcoming with information regarding my knowledge as to why whoever made up this magical receipt overcharged me for tax. When asked, I replied, "I dunno," and the ticket was thrown out.

Today, the judge came out and thanked us profusely and reminded us that we are the ones who make the wheels of justice turn and how some founding father said that the right to serve on a jury was more important even than the right to vote and yadda yadda. I do agree. I think it's important. I always reply and show up when called, I just wish they could chop down the ceremony some. The judge informed us that the case we were called on to hear was a one-day case. The whole thing would be heard and done with next Tuesday, and I figured if I was going to be called to serve on a jury, this would be the one to do so, because I have so much work to do and hard deadlines, that having to take a lot of time off would be disasterous. The court clerk read a list of names to enter the jurors box, and I was one of them.

Turned out the case was for a misdemeanor, minor in possession of alcohol--a common charge in this town. Sitting in the jurors box, I became extremely fascinated with the entire process. It was certainly a lot better than sitting in the waiting room and counting the fibers in the industrial carpet. I kept watching the court reporter as she typed away on the little ticker tape machine thing and stared off into space. She looked so stoic. I kept thinking of making a face at her or some ridiculous hand gesture just to see if she would react, but y'know, I didn't.

After a bunch of general questions, we began voir dire. The defense attorney asked questions of a few people, myself included because I'd mentioned I was a writer/editor. He asked a couple of specifics and seemed satisfied with the answers. He was a short, bulbous fat man, balding, and wearing round, wire-framed glasses at the edge of his nose. He looked at people with his mouth agape and his head tilted back and to the side, looking down his nose through his glasses. I liked him immediately. The prosecutor then took his stab at voir dire and launched into a speech much like the intro speech the judge gave us. It's our duty, we know it's a hardship, so on and so forth...impartiality, blah blah. The defense attorney objected.

Sustained!

Prosecutor went off on another tangent.

Objection! Sustained!

This was getting exciting. The prosecutor finally got to the point, but first made a really snide comment to the defense attorney, to which another objection was posed to the judge and the judge got all snippy with the prosecutor. I almost giggled. I really wanted to get on this jury now.

Voir dire ended, and we were given a mid-morning recess. When we returned, the judge told us that it was now time for the attorneys to excuse members of the jury that they thought were gonna fuck up their cases something awful. The judge informed us that it wasn't us, it was them, and that he was sure we'd be happy with another jury sometime because we were just wonderful people, but this was all just moving too fast and we need me time. Yeah. And that we shouldn't take being excused as an attack on our integrity.

I was the first juror excused. By the prosecution. And fuck yeah I took it personally. Of course, I was probably excused because of my affiliation with a local publication whose primary sponsors are local bars and also publishes pictures of sexy and not so sexy youths engaging in unbridled drunken debauchery, but still. It hurt, yo.

Justice truly is blind, and cold hearted, too.

Bitch.

...I didn't mean it baby, you know I love you.