Orange
County Resident Bombs Out on Federal Jury Duty 2
I headed out the
door, hopped in the car and drove to Greensboro, having made
the decision that I was going to make the most of a bad situation.
I forced myself not to think about the mayhem that I may have
been leaving behind and took the time tested Ostrich in the
Sand approach that seems to work for so may other people.
I drove the highway
keeping an eye on my odometer. Knowing I was getting paid
48 cents per mile I was happily watching the miles tick off
my tripmeter, while another part of me watched the clock knowing
that I didn't want to get there late(arrested by the Marshals
and placed in jail for contempt of court if I arrive late?).
The stars or the Gods or both lined up and I arrived at my
destination 47 miles later(3 shy of the magic 50 which would
have been $100 round trip or a cool $48- 100 x 48 cents =
$48!), pulling into the parking garage and taking the parking
stub which I would get stamped by the court so that my parking
fees would be covered(I started to feel pretty important-
This was starting to look like an expense account)..
As I walked the
3 blocks from the garage to the courthouse I tried to decide
whether I should "round" my mileage up to 50 miles
to try and get that extra 6 miles to put me up to $48 but
my conscious got the best of me.... Actually, it wasn't my
conscience, it was more the fear of getting caught lying to
the court and being led out of the jury selection room in
handcuffs.
I found the court
building and joined the end of the line. It reminded me of
the airport- security guards handing you a basket to put your
metal objects in and a metal detector that you walked through.
"No problem," I said to myself "You can handle
this." Security checks in the airport always annoyed
me, but I knew that on the other side of the security gate
was an airplane that was going to take me on an adventure.
I had no idea what lay on the other side of this security
check, but I was ready to conquer it.
"Do you have
a camera and cell phone?" the security guard asked...
even though there were 3 people in front of me...
"Yes, I do."
I replied as I continued to move forward, knowing I was a
near expert on passing through security. I'll put my phone,
camera, keys, coins, wallet and watch in the little basket
and retrieve it on the other side.
"Sorry. No
cameras or cell phones allowed. You'll have to put it in the
car. You have plenty of time so don't worry."
I wondered how
he knew that I was worried that I would be late for my first
time being called to serve my nation, but I found his words
reassuring and decided that I would make the most of my 10
extra minutes of freedom- I'd take a different route back
to the car. As I walked back to the car I thought about how
silly that law was(or maybe it was just a rule). I work for
a newspaper, how do they expect me to document this story
and call my editor if there was a chance that I would miss
my deadline. "Hmmm... The Federal government doesn't
seem too reporter friendly." And then I remembered that
the whole US Press Corp. just found out that the Bush Administration
ran a dragnet to try and catch the terrorists who were embedded
in the corporate media. I was happy that I didn't put my Press
Badge on- no need to draw attention to myself. Since the story
just broke a few days earlier I didn't know where Obama stood
on the issue, so it was better to keep a low profile. I'm
sure it would be a great experience to spend time in jail
with Keith Olberman, Arianna Huffington and Bill Moyers but
with my luck I would probably end up being cellmates with
Rush Limbaugh.
I dropped off my
cell phone and camera and heading back to the court house.
By now there was no line, the hall was empty and I was ushered
through quickly. I couldn't help feeling the "late for
school" syndrome- you know when you got to school late,
the halls were empty and when you walked into the classroom
20 minutes late all eyes were on you and you cringed as you
waited for the teacher to publicly humiliate you for not being
prompt!
"Take the
elevator to the 4th floor and then go into the 4th door on
the left."
I'm usually not
one to like lines, but I have to say I was relieved to see
the line straight ahead of me and disappearing into the 4th
door on the left". Whew... they'll be no more humiliation
today(hopefully). I say no more because technically there
is nothing humiliating about not knowing you can't bring a
phone or camera into the building... but what is humiliating
is when the smartass in the front of the line yells "Yes,
it said so right in the literature".
The literature?
Oh, damn... They wanted me to read all of that? I read some
of it, but I have to admit, it really wasn't all that interesting.
With page titles like "What you need to know", "The
role of the Juror", "Frequently Asked Questions"
and "Handbook for trial Jurors serving in the United
States District Courts" I really didn't think it applied
to me. Besides that, I've seen enough Perry Mason and LALaw
programs to know what I could and could not do as a juror.
On top of that, I didn't even know if I would actually be
selected as a juror so why clog my head with unnecessary information.
I was beginning
to realize that I've come somewhat full circle from my teenage
days in High School. Back then I was a selective learner because
I didn't think I needed to waste my time learning what THEY
thought I needed to know while today I'm realizing that I
have limited storage left in my brain and so have to be selective
of what I store in there. "Handbook for trial Jurors
serving in the United States District Courts" did not
pass the test and I would need a much better reason to read
it than "I might be picked to be on a jury."
I walked down the
hall and got in my place- last in line.(I may not be humiliated
by snide remarks by the deputy court clerk when I got in the
room for being late, but everyone would know I was the last
in line. I imagined that all 58 of the potential jurors in
front of me were the court equivalent of the teacher's pet
while I was the outcast, not unlike those students I had spent
3 years in New York school system trying to rehabilitate reintroduce
to the mainstream.
Much to my surprise
3 more people came out of the elevator and lined up behind
me. "Wow, maybe I'm a deputy court clerk pet afterall!".
Two of the men
behind me(looking like they just came off the Andy Griffith
Show), started discussing NASCAR in great detail. One particular
phrase caught my attention- "I LOOOOVVVVVEEEE NASCAR!"
one man told the other man in his southern twangy drawl.
For some reason
when I heard that line the phrase "Trial by a jury of
your peers" popped into my head. I thought of these two
NASCAR guys behind me, the 65 year old man in front of me
with the flowered shirt and intensely combed-over hair style.
The little bleach blonde grandma with the black roots sticking
out wearing her polyester elastic banded pants. The goofy
looking guy who immediately after I saw him evoked the nickname
"Gomer".
Peers? This people
aren't my peers? I didn't see a single one that I would invite
to one of my potluck dinners. Or go out to Tyler's for a hamburger
and beer. Or go to a Durham Bulls game. I began to ask myself
what "a jury of my peers" really was- or even if
it even existed. I always thought that my peers were my friends...
people I could relate to.. people who thought like I did.
I began to think
of hypothetical situations. Lets say for instance I was smoking
a joint(although I haven't done that for over 30 years now)
and I get busted. I'm going to go before a jury of my peers
and they're going to decide my fate. Hmmm... These people-
Mr. NASCAR, Ms. Polyester Pants and Gomer would be the ones
to decide whether I will be locked up or go free! The thought
was absolutely terrifying!
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