1. Empaneling
I’ve been called for jury duty and am sitting in the second row of the district courtroom. I am candidate #18. The lawyers are asking questions, trying to figure out which of us to nix.
Candidate #2 raises his hand at virtually every question. He’s making stuff up, sometimes saying he’d be biased against the plaintiff, sometimes the defendant, in a transparent bid to get out of serving. And there are others doing the same thing.
One has an uncle who’s a policeman in Connecticut.
Another has a pastor who is also a lawyer.
#8 was blinded in a car accident and never got pain-and-suffering compensation.
A man with an artificial leg from a motorcycle accident long ago feels the same way.
A recovered alcoholic on the far side of the chamber has many things to say.
A ham radio operator from Louisiana talks about being harassed by policemen in New York City for his portable radio.
Someone else talks about how they once knew someone who died in a sleep disorder clinic.
No questions come my way. As #18, I know my fate is sealed.
2. Going Downtown
There’s not much parking around the courthouse, and everyone who works around there jockeys for the few spots along the street. So I decide to take the express bus downtown on first day of the trial.
I leave at 7:25am, thinking that it would only take ten minutes to get to the bus stop but realize on the way that it will take longer. I need to hustle. Â It’s still early morning with temperatures just in the 70s, but by the time I get to the corner, sweat is streaming down my face, and my shirt is wet.
I wait at the stoplight where the stop used to be, but there is no bus sign there, and I get nervous, thinking the route had been cancelled. But it hasn’t been. After a few minutes a bus comes into view far up the feeder road… but it slows down and stops about 50 yards from me with flashers flashing.
I run to catch it while the driver waits.
“It’s been a while,” I say as I get on board.
The driver smiles and says, “I figured you didn’t know the stopped moved.”
The air in the bus is mercifully cool, and I sink back into a seat and watch the world go by as we race downtown.
3. In the Chambers
There’s a special door to the right of the fifth floor elevator at the courthouse that leads down a long hall directly to the jury room. They told us to use that door when we arrived.
I am the first one here. I put my drink into the refrigerator, pin a “Juror #12” tag to my shirt and sit down.
Gradually the others arrive. Some of us have books to read. Others have magazines. Some have phones or computers to punch at. Others start chatting. The man across from me seems to be sleeping.
Time passes.
And now it is time for the proceedings to begin, but two jurors are missing. One shows up a few minutes late complaining about the traffic. But the other, a Mr. Hunter, is nowhere to be seen. The bailiff says she can’t reach him at home or on his cell phone or at work.
We wait.
The bailiff comes in again to give us an update. No news. This has never happened before, she says.
We wait.
I have one of my snacks, because the morning is fleeting.
The judge comes in and apologizes. He is clearly not impressed. We’re all wondering what it would be like to be Mr. Hunter and walk into a waiting court of 11 jurors, one judge, one bailiff, one clerk, one stenographer, three lawyers, two plaintiffs and a representative of the defendant who all managed to make it on time. The judge talks about an arrest warrant and about sending deputies to get him. He confesses that since this has never happened before, they don’t quite know what the process should be.
We wait.
And finally the the judge calls us all into the courtroom where he tells us that even if Mr. Hunter were to appear (coerced or not), at this point it’s doubtful he would be a reasonable choice for a juror. In fairness to both parties, he says, he is dismissing us and that they’ll select another jury later in the afternoon. He thanks us for doing our civic duty and dismisses us all.
4. Going Home
Taking the bus back home at this time of day would be a multi-bus affair with a fair amount of walking since the express bus I came on only runs at rush hour. So in a way, I’m stranded. I call Ben, since I know he’ll get off work relatively soon.
I wait in the library, nominally a good (cool) place to hang out, but there are no comfortable places to sit in the entire place, and there’s a scrappy-looking guy in there with a croupy, hacking cough who won’t cover his mouth, and he seems always to be just one aisle away from me. I check out a book and go outside.
It’s almost 2:00 when Ben calls to say he’s on the way. He was delayed due to some office confusion, and he had to ride his bike home to get the car. It’s now sweltering outside, but I found a cool spot, and I have some snacks. So I sit by the curb in the shade and read until he pulls up.
We stop for lunch. It’s almost 3:30 when we get home. I am a wreck.
I am fifty-one years old, and I have never served on a jury (although I’ve been called several times). Frankly, I was looking forward to this. And now it’s been cancelled, and I’ve wasted a day and a half of my time, because of the absent Mr. Hunter.
On the notice they sent to us, they say,
YOUR LEGAL DUTY: You MUST report as directed. Failure to report may result in a special appearance before a judge and a fine of up to $1000.
I hope they throw the book at him.