Dodging a judicial bullet
Yesterday, I had jury duty. When I found myself sitting in the jury box during the opening hours of jury selection, with the judge rattling off an indictment containing 17 counts of such crimes as obstruction of justice and assault, I felt that terrible sinking feeling that I would be held hostage in the courthouse for weeks. When the attorneys listed the names of the witnesses scheduled to be called, weeks turned into months. I was gripped by panic. How would I escape?
So I hatched a daring, desperate plan.
The first failed pre-emptive action occurred when each member of the jury pool was called to the bench and asked various questions related to the case and potential hardship. When it was my turn, I explained to the judge sitting atop her high throne (who incidentally looked an awful lot like the actress who played the guidence counselor/therapist on the late WB show “Felicity”) that my 11-month twins precluded my involvement in the trial. This, of course, resulted in a contemptuous chuckle from Her Grace, who would hear none of it. Then the lawyers got to ask their questions.
The defense attorney had an important one: “It says here that you’re a web developer. What does that mean exactly?”
Perhaps he thought I was like a spider, spinning web through some mysterious biological secretion, or maybe he imagined me working in a factory where web-like rubber mesh was produced for the U.S. Army in Iraq.
“Why is this relevant?” asked Minerva, the goddess of wisdom.
“Uhm,” stammered the defense attorney. Clearly his JD was well-earned.
“Why do you need to know what he does?”
It was never clear. Personally, I think he was curious, probably having never heard of the Internets. I was more than willing to fill him in on the intricacies of content development, content management systems, and PHP scripting, but never got the chance. Her majesty sent me back to my seat with assurances that I would not be dismised, even though the poor defense attorney was confused about my source of income.
As the hours of jury selection dragged on, I grew more impatiant and antsy, alternating between fidgeting in my seat and trying to take a nap. I found reading impossible, knowing that I would soon be assigned to this terrible eternal jury. So I executed a plan I’d formulated earlier. I began staring at the defendent.
I projected waves of telepathic energy at her. “Why did you plead innocent, when you are so clearly guilty?” I projected, my thoughts burrowing into her skull. Or at least, that’s what I pretended they were doing. Basically, I was just giving her dirty looks, hopefully not to be misinterpreted as a threat, but generally hostile to her case. The way she looked away when she noticed my gaze indicated that something good was happening.
Once the potential jurors were all interviewed by the court, the trading and cutting began. People around me in the jury box were sent to the courtroom, replaced by others from the pool. Each time a juror’s number was called to leave, I begged the fates that I was among the lucky. But for three waves of cuts, I was not.
“Don’t take it personally if you’re not included in the jury,” the judge said.
I wanted to say that I would take it as a triumph, but I kept my mouth shut.
Finally, I noticed the defense attorney lean in to whisper to his client, and I could read the words on his lips: “Is there anyone you don’t want on the jury.” As he mouthed this to her, her eyes pointed straight at me and locked with mine. She muttered something to him, he nodded and headed back to the bench, handing his final list to the clerk. I held my breath. Three more numbers were called — including mine, lucky number 900. I almost applauded, but thought it would be better to maintain my composure. My gambit had worked. I had successfully convinced her that I was not a fair juror. I was a free man.
No more jury duty again for two years. And with any luck, I’ll be living outside the city and never, ever be called upon to do my civic duty again.
By Derksen, July 16, 2006 @ 7:36 pm
Two thoughts, Jeff -
1.) Believe me, it is better for our society when intelligent guys like you DO end up as jurors, because you are far more likely to pay attention to the facts of the case instead of succumbing to an emotional appeal.
2.) If you really don’t want to be a juror, openly admit to some horrible form of prejudice. This doesn’t have to be racial or religious in bounds – declare yourself an extreme libertarian who does not respect the authority of the court, or perhaps just as a strict classical interpretationist of the Constitution… your imagination is the only limit.