Kicking It At the Palace of Civic Justice

Jury duty comes like an illness: it is acknowledged shortly before the event itself, forgotten for days while you busy yourself with other matters, and then suddenly makes itself known and unavoidable when most inconvenient. Unlike an illness, though, you need a court order to get out of it.

For myself, I was notified three weeks before my report date. It was through the grace of Amanda that I even remembered to send in my 'Yes, I would love to serve!' postcard that prevents me from going to jail. I promptly forgot about the entire affair; whenever Amanda reminded me to tell our HR department at work that I had jury duty, I would enthusiastically agree. 'Got it!' I would say, as the task I was agreeing to flowed smoothly back out of my brain.

So it was that, Monday morning on my way to the courthouse, I called my supervisor and let them know I had jury duty. 'Worst case scenario, I don't make it in until lunch. I'll let you know.' I sign in at the courthouse and have a seat in the jury waiting room.

A clerk enters. 'Since we are only selecting for Grand Jury today, we will only need fourteen of you.' Awesome. My odds of serving are 14 : 100. As I mentally try to take that down to its lowest common denominator, those of us who were still qualified to serve (A whole mess of people disqualified themselves after finding out you can't have been convicted of basically anything in the last fifteen years) march into a courtroom.

I am still waiting to see a Perry Mason style courtroom in real life. No wide aisle down the middle gallery, nor olde-timey wooden gates and banisters separating the legal teams from the viewing audience. No separate witness stand behind which weeping widows can confess to plotting against their husbands. The style and size of the courtroom is way off from what I expected, and I get the feeling the other jurors are thinking the same thing.

Upon being seated, a circuit judge enters the room and gives us a quick rundown of constitutional democracy. I don't begrudge her this because, 1. It is actually relevant to why we are there, and 2. This lady probably doesn't talk to a lot of non-lawyers in her daily activities, and she should feel free to show off the knowledge that earned her those black robes.

We are told that grand juries serve for two weeks, and there will be two juries of seven citizens selected. One will serve Monday, Wednesday, Friday. The other will serve Tuesdays and Thursdays. Unlike a normal jury, we will not be observing trials and handing down verdicts. Instead, we will view about a dozen cases each day that the District Attorney's office is hoping to prosecute. We are presented with evidence, witnesses and victims testify to us, and we choose whether to indict an individual based on the evidence, which will then allow the case to move to trial.  Think of it as proof-reading the case before it goes to trial, and you're halfway there.

I don't know why the judge chose me for the Monday/Wednesday/Friday crew, but it probably had something to do with my height. I sat straight and tall in my pew (?), and was seated in between two tiny old ladies who were both busy clutching their bags and looking down.

Show me to be attentive.

I can't discuss the cases outside the courtroom, but after two days of hearing cases I can safely say one thing: Salem, you've gotta kick the meth. It's getting a little embarassing.

Five days left, and keeping my fingers crossed that I don't hear any child abuse cases. Already had to send a few domestic violence and attempted murder cases to trial, but this is a job that I definitely don't want to take home with me.