Timothy G. Killeen (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mxkillerpx) wrote,@ 2008-05-10 20:42:00 |
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Jury Duty
Having discovered several days prior that my employer would pay for up to 8 weeks of Jury Duty leave, I wanted to look my best for the event, believing of course that being well groomed would indicate my status as an intelligent and perfectly reasonable human being and thus increase my chances of being selected to serve on a jury. Being a juror, I thought, would be much better than going to work. This bears absolutely no explanation whatsoever. I carefully selected my attire the night before the event, deciding that I would aim to look 60% professional with a proper white shirt, black tie, chaps blazer, and my usual black dress shoes. The other 40% of my person, I decided, would be comprised of indie hipster garb as exemplified by my brown courduroy pants and brown fossil wristwatch which is large enough to seem like a wristband to the unhip, untrained eye of the contemporary litigator.
The Jury Selection room at Delaware County courthouse is a relatively unassuming room the size of a small banquet hall. Big padded chairs occupy nearly every square inch of the room, and upon my arrival nearly every chair was occupied by a different potential juror. I was late because I’d failed to anticipate the difficulty with which I would find the special juror parking lot or the queue of people at the court house metal detectors. But hey, I was a first timer and at least I’d shown up. Due to my tardiness, finding a seat proved to be a daunting task. Not only was I arriving late to an already crowded room, but naturally those people seated chose the outermost seats, therefore setting themselves up for broken toes as I clumsily fell towards one of the remaining middle seats. Before choosing a seat I briefly scanned the hall for any sign of youth that I might sit near in case chatting might have to happen to me. There’s nothing worse than getting trapped in an unexpected conversation about knitting or grandchildren. That’s the thing about dressing professionally; it often makes you look approachable even if your natural facial expression is a scowl or your hair is disheveled despite the clothes. Elegantly disheveled, that is. People see the tie and it makes them think you might care. Unfortunately, I appeared to be the only twenty-something carrying out my civic duty on this day. Ultimately I decided to sit next to a gentleman in what I believed to be his early 30s using a Macbook similar to the one I own. I left a courtesy seat between the two of us. Of course, regardless of a courtesy seat it wasn’t as if I was going to start a conversation. I do enjoy eavesdropping, however. Mac Guy was mostly silent, but I was ascertained (most secretly) that he was a teacher as he was grading papers about famous authors. Behind my left shoulder I could hear an ongoing conversation between a Jury Duty “frequent flyer” and the helpless older man forced to hear her stories.
After about ten minutes of getting used to my temporary environment a white screen was pulled down at the front of the hall, the lights dimmed, and a video projector switched on. Flashing onto the big screen was a video of one of Delaware County’s judges explaining why we, the potential jurors, were so important to the judicial process as well as the importance of wearing the red “Juror” buttons we were issued upon admission into the hall. The judge, clearly reading (and struggling) from cue cards went on to give step-by-step instructions on how to fill out the juror questionnaire full of yes or no questions. The virtual appearance of this judge caused silence and stillness in a way that I must admit felt very Big Brotherish, as if the video version of His Honor could sense whether or not his instructions went obeyed. Ever the disobeying rebel, I decided to rush through the questionnaire without waiting for the Judge’s explanation of each question. I was justified in this (as I am with everything I do, of course) because the Judge’s aim was to scare anyone who might have been thinking about lying to get themselves out of serving on a jury, but I was lying to get myself INTO serving. Or at least I thought i was going to be lying. It turns out I’m not very biased anyway, or at least not in a way that would prevent me from deliberating fairly, and I don’t know anyone who works in a field that could cause me to be biased by default. I don’t know any real cops or lawyers, and I’ve never been involved with a serious crime, unless stealing internet in a Starbucks is illegal (and if it is…I don’t see any cops but the fat bitch who works here is really staring me down angrily).
After handing in my winning questionnaire, the waiting began. So, since I’ve decided that professional people who are likely to be fair deliberators usually keep up with the daily news, I decided to break out the newspaper and look at the headlines of stories about crime in Upper Darby. In other words, I brought the Delaware County Daily Times with me. After breezing through the sports stories that I actually cared about I decided to have a go at the crossword puzzle, which I always attempt but never finish because I have an admittedly very shallow vocabulary. Upon experiencing my usual crossword frustration my pen took its normal trajectory towards the cryptogram (or Cryptograpple if you’re more of an Inquirer fan), which I finished with ease because it involves little to no vocabulary. Then when the time was right I broke out my copy of The Catcher in the Rye which I was reading for the fourth time since eleventh grade for no other reason than I just really like it. I hid the title of the book from the view of anyone for fear that its title being exposed would make me seem either really juvenile or really pretentious. I didn’t need all those phonies judging me because I like a book. I’m the only one who can judge people like that on so small a basis. That didn’t last long, though, as I was already on the final chapter before I even got to opening the book at jury duty. The other book I had at my disposal was one I had picked up the week before on the bargain rack at Barnes and Noble. The book is called The Areas of My Expertise, and it’s written by John Hodgman of The Daily Show fame, but you may know him more accurately as “PC” from the Mac commercials alongside Justin Long. It’s a humorous book in the format of an almanac filled with ridiculous and absurd facts, and really just an opportunity for Hodgman to couple his intense intellect and his superior writing skills. I bought it because I like his work on the Daily Show. I found this particular book a little tough to chew because it was far too ridiculous and—again (this happens far too often)—it mocked my vocabulary. But I had no choice but to press on reading it because I was ill-prepared for the amount of downtime jury duty would provide.
Eventually a snack cart became available to us, serving coffee and pastries for a fair price. The rest of the jurors and I lined up single file in a corridor lined with framed pictures and small biographies of judges from past decades. I couldn’t help but notice that there had only been 2 minority judges in Delaware County in what looked to be its history (I assume there weren’t any before 1950, but I don’t know…prove me wrong I guess). These types of facts always stick out to me. When it was my turn to order, I decided to go with a large black coffee and an apple, a hypocritical but winning combination of drugs and health.
Upon reentering the jury waiting room it appeared as though the selection of jurors was ready to commence. A woman from the Jury Commission in her late twenties with a glaring Philadelphia accent stood in front of the room and explained that today there would be three cases, all civil, and that each would choose from a panel of 45 jurors. Even though there were well over 300 people in the room, I liked my chances. She began reading off names for the first case….and NOTHING! I had even practiced the wry-smile-into-bitter-head-shaking I was going to employ when I was selected. Would I even get a chance to use it now?? It appeared not. I could have sworn that I was first wave material. This got me down, especially because it meant I’d have to sit around until the second case chose a 45 person juror panel and it was quickly approaching lunch time. If I wasn’t going to be picked I at least wanted to know early enough for it to feel like a day off from work.
Stunned, I really wasn’t in the mood to read so I chose to just sit, legs crossed watching CNN and occasionally glancing at the crossword puzzle which was still perplexing me. Luckily, just shy of 1230pm the remaining stand-by jurors and I were greeted by the now familiar girl with the Philly accent who appeared to be ready to announce the second group of possible jurors. I won’t play this out any more dramatically than I already have. I was number 13 of 45. And there we were, 45 people chosen at random marching into a court room to be interviewed and questioned to possibly be picked as one of 14 jurors in a civil case. As we sat we were greeted by an enormous beast of a man whose black robe indicated he was the judge in the case. After a short briefing of what we’d be experiencing, he sent us packing for lunch. “Great,” I thought, “more time to waste and still I’m not a juror.” So off I went through the streets of Media, looking for lunch.
After a quiet lone-wolf lunch at the nearby Zacks hamburgers I was finally ready to let go of the hope that jury selection would be a quick and painless process. I passed through the Court House metal detectors for the 2nd time of the day with my iPod securely in tow completely oblivious to the drama to come.
To establish the setting it is important for you to dismiss every image of a court room you’ve ever seen on screen. The Court of His Honor George A. Pagano is actually quite pleasant and much less cold and intimidating than what you might see on Law & Order. In fact, I might even consider it a quaint, intimate setting if not for the wealth of emotional bloodshed which I assume has accumulated through the many years of its existence. Two oversized windows adorn the walls opposite the jury box, allowing an almost overwhelming amount of sunlight into the room, overwhelming for a court room anyhow or what I imagine (okay…based on tv) it should be like. As far as size is concerned, I would say the room would barely fit two gradeschool classrooms inside of it, with only 2 small church-like rows for crowd viewing. The rest of the space is where the legal magic happens. At the forefront it is the Judge’s massive bench which includes a box for his clerk, reporter, and, to his left, a witness when necessary. The entire bench takes up around 15% of the entire court room, giving the very deliberate impression that the judge is FUCKING IMPORTANT. Directly in front of the bar which restrains the heathens who spectate are four large desks where various legal people might sit, as well as the defendants and plaintiffs.
After all 45 potential jurors had arrived back to their cramped assigned seats in the church-like pews in the back or the jury box, and after the grumblings of bitteress ceased, the Judge was ready to commence the process. He began with the same cliché speech we would hear 5 times that day about how important the jury process was and how great we all were for coming out. Bullshit if you ask me, especially since the judge was more or less admitting every time he said this that if you don’t show up for jury duty, nothing is going to happen. Then the magic show began. He began by introducing each of the major legal players in the case that we would soon learn about. One by one the lawyers were named and would rise like for a little head nod like they were doing a goddamn curtain call. The point was that if any of the jurors had ever heard of these people we were supposed to raise our hands and be known, as that would obviously cause a bias. No hands were raised. At this point the judge explained what the case was about. “This is a case of Medical malpractice,” he explained. No wonder the defense had 3 lawyers and the plaintiff only one. This also explained to me why a blind man had been being shuffled around the building since I’d arrived several hours earlier. I figured some bastard doctor had taken advantage of the poor sap just because he was blind. Case closed. But then the Judge dropped the bomb that caused me to forget that I was probably the only jerk in the room actually trying to get on the jury. “The trial is scheduled to last for 10 days,” he said softly, like he was expecting the gasps to come. And they did..,to an extent. I could hear the obvious chatter about how difficult it would be to miss work for 10 days. And even though I knew Vanguard would pay me to be on jury duty for as long as it would take, I also knew that I hadn’t even been on the job 8 months and that missing 10 days would be less than ideal. I made the decision right then and there that my every move for the rest of the day would be aimed now at convincing the lawyers that I was the wrong guy for the job. My first opportunity came soon after, as questioning began. In this segment, more people were named and if a juror knew a name that was called we were to raise our hands and then explain how we knew them. Names of doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals were rattled off and I knew not one.
Round 1:
Judge and Lawyers: 1
Tim Killeen: 0
Next came the line of questioning that would test our morality and biases. Each question would be followed by “ and will that __________ keep you from making an unbiased verdict in a civil case if asked to do so.” For example:
1. Do you or anyone you are closely related to work in the law enforcement profession, and, if yes, will that relationship keep you from making an unbiased verdict in a civil case if asked to do so?
Now, I can lie with the best of ‘em. Not that I’m proud of it, but I’ve told some pretty bold faced and meaningful lies in my time, even in situations where I was being questioned by authorities. “ No officer, I wasn’t pissing in that bush,” comes to mind (and you probably know that lie didn’t work out too well for me) or the time(s) I was sent to the principal’s office for suspected cheating (two successful lies). Oh, and the time when I was caught with a cheat sheet in German class but lied by calling it the notes that I just happened to be taking during the test. But on this day at this moment, I just couldn’t bring myself to make myself sound biased when I knew I wasn’t. In fact, the only question I was even able to raise my hand for was “Do you know anyone in the medical profession….”. When the lawyers asked me to explain who I knew, I told them that Tom was in medical school and that he was my brother whom I am very close with. They didn’t seem to care very much. They made me admit that Tom’s status as a medical student does nothing to skew my bias for or against doctors, and that’s absolutely true. If anything, Tom’s one of the only people that makes me hold out hope that not all doctor’s are full of shit but I still respect them and I wouldn’t be biased against a doctor in the court of law.
Round 2:
Lawyers and Judge: 2
Tim Killeen: 0
More impressive I thought than my own inability to lie was the desperation in which most people in the room were trying to get themselves out of serving on a jury. I saw grown men whine like little girls and even the elderly making up stories about how they just happened to be going on vacation in a few days. Any sane person would have been impressed at just how many people claimed to be going on a vacation in the first week of March. Every minute I was becoming much more a candidate to serve on the jury than I ever thought I could be. And I still looked so god damn professional. “Damn it,” I thought, “why’d I have to go showin’ off like that.”
Stage 3, I found out, was when the lawyers from both sides, who by now had heard an hour’s worth of bullshit from people who obviously didn’t want to serve, sat together in a huddle and made suggestions as to who the 14 jurors should be (2 for “stand-by). At their disposal was what I called the Judge’s “static box,” which was just a switch that made the room fill up with a dim static sound which made it difficult to hear conversations going on anywhere that was more than 10 feet away from you. So without the ability to hear what the lawyers were saying about me, I kicked into the gear my one last remaining line of defense: the death stare. This is where I look miserable and I let you know that I’m absolutely pissed off to be in your presence. For a good half hour I stared down the lawyer’s as best I could while flopping around in my chair angrily like a child. A child who had no business serving on a jury.
Round 3:
Game Over.
I knew the entire time I was going to get picked, and I did. Before the actual selection announcement the judge explained that usually in cases like these, only those people who, deep down, did actually want to serve on a jury were usually the ones who got picked. In a way, I suppose he was right. They called my name as Juror #6, which meant I wasn’t even stand-by, my opinion was going to matter in the court of law. There was no arguing it at this point, so I sucked it up and tried to look happy. The Judge kept the 14 of us around for a brief discussion where he allayed my fear that for some reason we were going to be sequestered in some dingy hotel where I would slowly drive myself crazy. No, we were allowed to go home, but we couldn’t tell anyone about the case until it was over. I asked one question: “is there a dress code?” “No, I used to try to enforce a dress code, but I gave up.”
“That’s all I needed to know.” And I went home pissed off that I was picked and scared that the case was going to be way beyond my maturity level.
Having discovered several days prior that my employer would pay for up to 8 weeks of Jury Duty leave, I wanted to look my best for the event, believing of course that being well groomed would indicate my status as an intelligent and perfectly reasonable human being and thus increase my chances of being selected to serve on a jury. Being a juror, I thought, would be much better than going to work. This bears absolutely no explanation whatsoever. I carefully selected my attire the night before the event, deciding that I would aim to look 60% professional with a proper white shirt, black tie, chaps blazer, and my usual black dress shoes. The other 40% of my person, I decided, would be comprised of indie hipster garb as exemplified by my brown courduroy pants and brown fossil wristwatch which is large enough to seem like a wristband to the unhip, untrained eye of the contemporary litigator.
The Jury Selection room at Delaware County courthouse is a relatively unassuming room the size of a small banquet hall. Big padded chairs occupy nearly every square inch of the room, and upon my arrival nearly every chair was occupied by a different potential juror. I was late because I’d failed to anticipate the difficulty with which I would find the special juror parking lot or the queue of people at the court house metal detectors. But hey, I was a first timer and at least I’d shown up. Due to my tardiness, finding a seat proved to be a daunting task. Not only was I arriving late to an already crowded room, but naturally those people seated chose the outermost seats, therefore setting themselves up for broken toes as I clumsily fell towards one of the remaining middle seats. Before choosing a seat I briefly scanned the hall for any sign of youth that I might sit near in case chatting might have to happen to me. There’s nothing worse than getting trapped in an unexpected conversation about knitting or grandchildren. That’s the thing about dressing professionally; it often makes you look approachable even if your natural facial expression is a scowl or your hair is disheveled despite the clothes. Elegantly disheveled, that is. People see the tie and it makes them think you might care. Unfortunately, I appeared to be the only twenty-something carrying out my civic duty on this day. Ultimately I decided to sit next to a gentleman in what I believed to be his early 30s using a Macbook similar to the one I own. I left a courtesy seat between the two of us. Of course, regardless of a courtesy seat it wasn’t as if I was going to start a conversation. I do enjoy eavesdropping, however. Mac Guy was mostly silent, but I was ascertained (most secretly) that he was a teacher as he was grading papers about famous authors. Behind my left shoulder I could hear an ongoing conversation between a Jury Duty “frequent flyer” and the helpless older man forced to hear her stories.
After about ten minutes of getting used to my temporary environment a white screen was pulled down at the front of the hall, the lights dimmed, and a video projector switched on. Flashing onto the big screen was a video of one of Delaware County’s judges explaining why we, the potential jurors, were so important to the judicial process as well as the importance of wearing the red “Juror” buttons we were issued upon admission into the hall. The judge, clearly reading (and struggling) from cue cards went on to give step-by-step instructions on how to fill out the juror questionnaire full of yes or no questions. The virtual appearance of this judge caused silence and stillness in a way that I must admit felt very Big Brotherish, as if the video version of His Honor could sense whether or not his instructions went obeyed. Ever the disobeying rebel, I decided to rush through the questionnaire without waiting for the Judge’s explanation of each question. I was justified in this (as I am with everything I do, of course) because the Judge’s aim was to scare anyone who might have been thinking about lying to get themselves out of serving on a jury, but I was lying to get myself INTO serving. Or at least I thought i was going to be lying. It turns out I’m not very biased anyway, or at least not in a way that would prevent me from deliberating fairly, and I don’t know anyone who works in a field that could cause me to be biased by default. I don’t know any real cops or lawyers, and I’ve never been involved with a serious crime, unless stealing internet in a Starbucks is illegal (and if it is…I don’t see any cops but the fat bitch who works here is really staring me down angrily).
After handing in my winning questionnaire, the waiting began. So, since I’ve decided that professional people who are likely to be fair deliberators usually keep up with the daily news, I decided to break out the newspaper and look at the headlines of stories about crime in Upper Darby. In other words, I brought the Delaware County Daily Times with me. After breezing through the sports stories that I actually cared about I decided to have a go at the crossword puzzle, which I always attempt but never finish because I have an admittedly very shallow vocabulary. Upon experiencing my usual crossword frustration my pen took its normal trajectory towards the cryptogram (or Cryptograpple if you’re more of an Inquirer fan), which I finished with ease because it involves little to no vocabulary. Then when the time was right I broke out my copy of The Catcher in the Rye which I was reading for the fourth time since eleventh grade for no other reason than I just really like it. I hid the title of the book from the view of anyone for fear that its title being exposed would make me seem either really juvenile or really pretentious. I didn’t need all those phonies judging me because I like a book. I’m the only one who can judge people like that on so small a basis. That didn’t last long, though, as I was already on the final chapter before I even got to opening the book at jury duty. The other book I had at my disposal was one I had picked up the week before on the bargain rack at Barnes and Noble. The book is called The Areas of My Expertise, and it’s written by John Hodgman of The Daily Show fame, but you may know him more accurately as “PC” from the Mac commercials alongside Justin Long. It’s a humorous book in the format of an almanac filled with ridiculous and absurd facts, and really just an opportunity for Hodgman to couple his intense intellect and his superior writing skills. I bought it because I like his work on the Daily Show. I found this particular book a little tough to chew because it was far too ridiculous and—again (this happens far too often)—it mocked my vocabulary. But I had no choice but to press on reading it because I was ill-prepared for the amount of downtime jury duty would provide.
Eventually a snack cart became available to us, serving coffee and pastries for a fair price. The rest of the jurors and I lined up single file in a corridor lined with framed pictures and small biographies of judges from past decades. I couldn’t help but notice that there had only been 2 minority judges in Delaware County in what looked to be its history (I assume there weren’t any before 1950, but I don’t know…prove me wrong I guess). These types of facts always stick out to me. When it was my turn to order, I decided to go with a large black coffee and an apple, a hypocritical but winning combination of drugs and health.
Upon reentering the jury waiting room it appeared as though the selection of jurors was ready to commence. A woman from the Jury Commission in her late twenties with a glaring Philadelphia accent stood in front of the room and explained that today there would be three cases, all civil, and that each would choose from a panel of 45 jurors. Even though there were well over 300 people in the room, I liked my chances. She began reading off names for the first case….and NOTHING! I had even practiced the wry-smile-into-bitter-head-shaking I was going to employ when I was selected. Would I even get a chance to use it now?? It appeared not. I could have sworn that I was first wave material. This got me down, especially because it meant I’d have to sit around until the second case chose a 45 person juror panel and it was quickly approaching lunch time. If I wasn’t going to be picked I at least wanted to know early enough for it to feel like a day off from work.
Stunned, I really wasn’t in the mood to read so I chose to just sit, legs crossed watching CNN and occasionally glancing at the crossword puzzle which was still perplexing me. Luckily, just shy of 1230pm the remaining stand-by jurors and I were greeted by the now familiar girl with the Philly accent who appeared to be ready to announce the second group of possible jurors. I won’t play this out any more dramatically than I already have. I was number 13 of 45. And there we were, 45 people chosen at random marching into a court room to be interviewed and questioned to possibly be picked as one of 14 jurors in a civil case. As we sat we were greeted by an enormous beast of a man whose black robe indicated he was the judge in the case. After a short briefing of what we’d be experiencing, he sent us packing for lunch. “Great,” I thought, “more time to waste and still I’m not a juror.” So off I went through the streets of Media, looking for lunch.
After a quiet lone-wolf lunch at the nearby Zacks hamburgers I was finally ready to let go of the hope that jury selection would be a quick and painless process. I passed through the Court House metal detectors for the 2nd time of the day with my iPod securely in tow completely oblivious to the drama to come.
To establish the setting it is important for you to dismiss every image of a court room you’ve ever seen on screen. The Court of His Honor George A. Pagano is actually quite pleasant and much less cold and intimidating than what you might see on Law & Order. In fact, I might even consider it a quaint, intimate setting if not for the wealth of emotional bloodshed which I assume has accumulated through the many years of its existence. Two oversized windows adorn the walls opposite the jury box, allowing an almost overwhelming amount of sunlight into the room, overwhelming for a court room anyhow or what I imagine (okay…based on tv) it should be like. As far as size is concerned, I would say the room would barely fit two gradeschool classrooms inside of it, with only 2 small church-like rows for crowd viewing. The rest of the space is where the legal magic happens. At the forefront it is the Judge’s massive bench which includes a box for his clerk, reporter, and, to his left, a witness when necessary. The entire bench takes up around 15% of the entire court room, giving the very deliberate impression that the judge is FUCKING IMPORTANT. Directly in front of the bar which restrains the heathens who spectate are four large desks where various legal people might sit, as well as the defendants and plaintiffs.
After all 45 potential jurors had arrived back to their cramped assigned seats in the church-like pews in the back or the jury box, and after the grumblings of bitteress ceased, the Judge was ready to commence the process. He began with the same cliché speech we would hear 5 times that day about how important the jury process was and how great we all were for coming out. Bullshit if you ask me, especially since the judge was more or less admitting every time he said this that if you don’t show up for jury duty, nothing is going to happen. Then the magic show began. He began by introducing each of the major legal players in the case that we would soon learn about. One by one the lawyers were named and would rise like for a little head nod like they were doing a goddamn curtain call. The point was that if any of the jurors had ever heard of these people we were supposed to raise our hands and be known, as that would obviously cause a bias. No hands were raised. At this point the judge explained what the case was about. “This is a case of Medical malpractice,” he explained. No wonder the defense had 3 lawyers and the plaintiff only one. This also explained to me why a blind man had been being shuffled around the building since I’d arrived several hours earlier. I figured some bastard doctor had taken advantage of the poor sap just because he was blind. Case closed. But then the Judge dropped the bomb that caused me to forget that I was probably the only jerk in the room actually trying to get on the jury. “The trial is scheduled to last for 10 days,” he said softly, like he was expecting the gasps to come. And they did..,to an extent. I could hear the obvious chatter about how difficult it would be to miss work for 10 days. And even though I knew Vanguard would pay me to be on jury duty for as long as it would take, I also knew that I hadn’t even been on the job 8 months and that missing 10 days would be less than ideal. I made the decision right then and there that my every move for the rest of the day would be aimed now at convincing the lawyers that I was the wrong guy for the job. My first opportunity came soon after, as questioning began. In this segment, more people were named and if a juror knew a name that was called we were to raise our hands and then explain how we knew them. Names of doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals were rattled off and I knew not one.
Round 1:
Judge and Lawyers: 1
Tim Killeen: 0
Next came the line of questioning that would test our morality and biases. Each question would be followed by “ and will that __________ keep you from making an unbiased verdict in a civil case if asked to do so.” For example:
1. Do you or anyone you are closely related to work in the law enforcement profession, and, if yes, will that relationship keep you from making an unbiased verdict in a civil case if asked to do so?
Now, I can lie with the best of ‘em. Not that I’m proud of it, but I’ve told some pretty bold faced and meaningful lies in my time, even in situations where I was being questioned by authorities. “ No officer, I wasn’t pissing in that bush,” comes to mind (and you probably know that lie didn’t work out too well for me) or the time(s) I was sent to the principal’s office for suspected cheating (two successful lies). Oh, and the time when I was caught with a cheat sheet in German class but lied by calling it the notes that I just happened to be taking during the test. But on this day at this moment, I just couldn’t bring myself to make myself sound biased when I knew I wasn’t. In fact, the only question I was even able to raise my hand for was “Do you know anyone in the medical profession….”. When the lawyers asked me to explain who I knew, I told them that Tom was in medical school and that he was my brother whom I am very close with. They didn’t seem to care very much. They made me admit that Tom’s status as a medical student does nothing to skew my bias for or against doctors, and that’s absolutely true. If anything, Tom’s one of the only people that makes me hold out hope that not all doctor’s are full of shit but I still respect them and I wouldn’t be biased against a doctor in the court of law.
Round 2:
Lawyers and Judge: 2
Tim Killeen: 0
More impressive I thought than my own inability to lie was the desperation in which most people in the room were trying to get themselves out of serving on a jury. I saw grown men whine like little girls and even the elderly making up stories about how they just happened to be going on vacation in a few days. Any sane person would have been impressed at just how many people claimed to be going on a vacation in the first week of March. Every minute I was becoming much more a candidate to serve on the jury than I ever thought I could be. And I still looked so god damn professional. “Damn it,” I thought, “why’d I have to go showin’ off like that.”
Stage 3, I found out, was when the lawyers from both sides, who by now had heard an hour’s worth of bullshit from people who obviously didn’t want to serve, sat together in a huddle and made suggestions as to who the 14 jurors should be (2 for “stand-by). At their disposal was what I called the Judge’s “static box,” which was just a switch that made the room fill up with a dim static sound which made it difficult to hear conversations going on anywhere that was more than 10 feet away from you. So without the ability to hear what the lawyers were saying about me, I kicked into the gear my one last remaining line of defense: the death stare. This is where I look miserable and I let you know that I’m absolutely pissed off to be in your presence. For a good half hour I stared down the lawyer’s as best I could while flopping around in my chair angrily like a child. A child who had no business serving on a jury.
Round 3:
Game Over.
I knew the entire time I was going to get picked, and I did. Before the actual selection announcement the judge explained that usually in cases like these, only those people who, deep down, did actually want to serve on a jury were usually the ones who got picked. In a way, I suppose he was right. They called my name as Juror #6, which meant I wasn’t even stand-by, my opinion was going to matter in the court of law. There was no arguing it at this point, so I sucked it up and tried to look happy. The Judge kept the 14 of us around for a brief discussion where he allayed my fear that for some reason we were going to be sequestered in some dingy hotel where I would slowly drive myself crazy. No, we were allowed to go home, but we couldn’t tell anyone about the case until it was over. I asked one question: “is there a dress code?” “No, I used to try to enforce a dress code, but I gave up.”
“That’s all I needed to know.” And I went home pissed off that I was picked and scared that the case was going to be way beyond my maturity level.
