answering the call of duty

I had jury duty today.

I actually had it last week, too, but F@irfax County has a deal where you can call in and see if your 'group' is needed. Mine wasn't last Monday, which was lovely.

But my number was up today, so I dragged my Monday-weary family out of bed a little early so they could drop me off at the courthouse.

I was a little late, which made me nervous, but it turned out we sat around for another half hour before being shown a slightly cheesy video regarding jury duty ("I mean, why me? Out of the thousands who could have been called?" I love the narration.)

I was struck by a few things -- the predominantly white, apparently middle- to upper-middle-class, mostly older population in the jury holding room. The building itself was nice (though the cafeteria left much to be desired -- it was being closed in a week or two, and I'm afraid to ask why), and everyone was extremely polite to us -- I felt like a bit like we were all VIPs for the day. I suppose it benefits no one to make a potential juror angry.

While we waited for action, I eavesdropped on some ladies who had been called in during the previous week. Apparently, there had been a jury selection for a five-week trial. Five weeks! I went in there thinking that two days would be the worst they could do to me. Yikes. I'd hate to see the look on my boss' face if I had to present that sort of situation to him. "Hey, Brian -- yeah, I realize we're launching an entirely new paginating system here in two weeks, and that means everyone will be working fifteen times slower than they usually do, because we don't really know how to use it yet, and we've all been warned that we can't take vacation OR get sick, but -- you know, jury duty!"
And a couple of months before a maternity leave, at that.

I didn't wait too long after the fun-times video viewing to be called to a courtroom. We stood around outside the door for awhile -- I heard that, often, cases are settled by the lawyers while a jury pool waits around outside the door. I find it interesting that this would occur, but the mind of a lawyer is something I cannot consider myself familiar with. At any rate, this didn't happen to us. We were eventually let in, and thirteen of us -- including me -- were directed to sit in the jury box.

My one previous jury-duty experience didn't result in a trial. This was when I lived in D.C., probably about eight years ago. I was up for selection for an armed robbery trial -- it might even have been manslaughter, I don't exactly recall -- of a takeaway chicken place on 14th Street. Somewhat exciting.

This case involved a woman who didn't like the scars she was left with after she went to a plastic surgeon for a facelift. I can feel my eyes rolling even as I type that. Not that I consider plastic surgeons to be the most sympathetic populace in the world, themselves, but I told myself, if I was selected, to be as impartial as possible.

This proved harder when the first lawyer, for Scar Barbie (no visible scars, by the way -- they were allegedly behind her ears), proved to be a jack@ss. Shouldn't a trial lawyer at least assume a pleasant persona? Maybe he thought he had. Sheesh. Anyway, we heard a litany of potential jurors who had once known doctors, or who had taken a couple of law classes in college 30 years ago, or who had had cysts removed from their faces. None of the lawyers' questions prompted any response from me.

Then they asked a few people about their occupations -- they had no data for these people. Aha! So they have data for the rest of us. SWEET.
I have this theory, based on my one previous experience and that of other fellow journalists, that for whatever reason, lawyers want to avoid newspaper persons (or maybe media people of all stripes) at all costs. I'm not sure exactly why, but it seems to be legal kryptonite, somehow. My days of plopping movie and book reviews on pages and designing packages about military officers who craft beadwork in their spare time might unduly influence me in these matters. Very well. If they say so.

Sure enough, whether it was the occupation or some other reason (age? I was younger than most of the other jurors, though I don't see the relevance. Pregnancy? I cannot say), I was one of those 'stricken' from the jury box. Whew! No four-day trial for me, though it might have been one of the more entertaining ones. Back to the jury holding pen I went.

I heard more scary stories about longer trials that others had narrowly avoided, or that they'd heard about. I love F@irfax County's problems. Botched plastic surgery and class-action lawsuits against sewage treatment plants. Boy, now THAT one sounded like a hum-dinger (sarcasm).

Maybe an hour later, we were excused. Free from jury duty for another three years!

Yes, yes, it's a little exciting to think of one's civic duty being performed. To be part of the process. But the other part of me just doesn't want to be bothered. I strike this deal with the legal system: I'll try to leave IT alone, if IT tries to leave ME alone. Oh, and I'll happily pay my taxes, as well. The deal is back on -- for three more years, at least.