Day One

My first day of jury duty in service to the State and County has passed into the annals of history. Though, of course, history will little note, nor long remember, what we did there.

Gathering such a cross section of society is a little like examining deep core soil samples. An amalgam of bits and flecks and rocks and shiny things and mud, but it all tells a story.

In the jury room (comfy chairs, but no wireless internet access, the Philistines) there were the obligatory couple of souls who felt the need to let all the rest of us in on their cell phone conversations. And naturally, there is a Law of the Universe that says people so inclined to share cell phone calls will have the biggest, boomingest voices in the human race. I'm thrilled that Bob is going to meet a big black guy at the loading dock, but that kind of information is between Bob, God, and the big black guy. Let the rest of us work out our own salvation in fear and trembling.

There was the chatty retired guy, who let on he liked a bit of the grape now and then. Or the fermented potato, as it turned out. He naturally gravitated to a couple of other more working class folks who shared an affinity for the grape, or, again as it turned out, the hop.

One school custodian was engaged in a conversation about unions and picketing and contracts, and unknowingly ran down the list of everything that bothers me about unions.

We watched a short video about the jury system. It was the standard product that chipper 20-something marketing types put together. They round up struggling actors, dash off lines designed to get across The Big Message, score it with early 80s soap opera music and film it in a manner that would make Leni Riefenstahl nod approvingly. In this case, The Big Message was "I'm glad I had a chance to serve jury duty." (Don't misunderstand, I do appreciate this chance to serve.) Then, the TV screens were filled with the image of a pale, bald figure, camera focused tight on his face, looking at us, eyes methodically searching, hunting. (Ok, I made up that part.)

You wouldn't think doing nothing would be so exhausting. I did nothing but get familiar with the basic rules of Battlefleet Gothic in the morning. (Trying to read such material without letting your fellow citizens know you're a geek felt a little like reading comic books behind your social studies textbook while stern Miss Havisham casts questioning glances your way.)

One chunk of the jury pool was taken away in the morning by a Government Official and shot. I mean, they were taken for a civil case. The ones who were not selected for that jury were sent home.

We were told to be back at 1pm from lunch, so all of us sheeple were back at 1pm. And sat around till 2pm till we were taken up to a courtroom for a trial. I was selected by the Hand of Fate to be in the initial pool of 22 jurors. Eight were weeded out of that to get down to the 12 member jury plus 2 alternates.

I was one of the eight tossed out. I have my guess why I was tossed, but I won't record that here and leave a record that can come back to haunt me. I've expressed to a few of you in private why I think I won't be getting on a jury.

The defense attorney did ask if anyone had bumper stickers on their vehicles. One guy said he had a Snowmobilers for Bush bumper sticker. He was also one of the eight rejects. Make of that what you will.

I'll have to call in tonight, and see if I am to go do my civic duty again tomorrow. Though I think there is great value in having a jury of citizens, I can't believe this is the most efficient way to run the system, with so much sitting around. But, you can't fight City Hall. Or County Hall. Or State Hall.