Jury Duty, day 2 was not nearly as exciting as day 1. Well, maybe less exciting isn’t a proper description. It actually was more exciting than the first day. That’s only because the first day consisted of calling roll a few times and then half of us leaving.
Yesterday, we actually saw some lawyers. Answered some questions. Laid eyes on a defendant.
After two hours of sitting, waiting, standing, and answering we finally got to the striking phase. Let me back up a little.
I carried a small notebook with me yesterday. The first day I forgot and was relegated to jotting things on a crumpled piece of paper I found under the seat of my car. This time I showed up prepared to take notes. Not on the trial, but on the jurors. I heard some juicy quotes the day before. Lots of phrases and sentences I could use to dream up fascinating stories about my fellow prospective jurors. Thursday was much different.
No one talked. No one. I began to wonder if word had gotten out that someone was listening and writing about what they heard. I sat there for 30 or 45 minutes waiting. Hoping to hear something worth writing down. The only thing I wrote: “Today is quiet. Very, very quiet.”
I heard conversation in the hall. Raucous banter at times. I wondered, on paper, if I should slip out and listen. I quickly remembered that I am much too lazy and decided to stay seated.
I did not expect to sit for this jury. I go to church with, and am friends with one of the Assistant DAs for Lauderdale County. No defense lawyer worth his salt would put a friend of the ADA on his jury. I still had to show up for the selection process.
When others besides potential jurors entered the room I thought I might actually have a chance. Will was not actually trying the case. Lauderdale County District Attorney Chris Connelly sat behind the prosecution’s table.
Then I saw my chance fly out the window. Actually the courtroom had no windows. My chances flew out the heavy wooden doors, into the hallway, and then out the window.
When the DA entered he was accompanied by one of his man witnesses. I knew him. As a matter of fact, I used to go to church with him. And furthermore, his wife taught both of my children. Now that I think about it, I think Misty designed a landscape for them at one time.
The judge entered and gave us some instruction. We were ready to move into the selection process. I knew I would be released, I just hoped the selection process would be short. It was not.
First each prospective juror stood and gave their name, address, occupation & employer, spouse, and spouse’s occupation & employer. There were over fifty of us. Roll call was a long, but informative, process. I learned that at 36 I was in the bottom half, if not third, of the jury pool in terms of age. The process also opened my eyes a little wider concerning joblessness in our area. At least 20% of the group said they were without a job. I was al little surprised.
Following roll call, the lawyers from each side took turns asking questions of the group. At first the questions were fairly harmless and concerned the parties involved in the case. “Do you know the defendant?” “Do you know his family?” “Do you know his lawyer?” “Do you know the investigator?” “Do you know the DA?”
Several of us stood and spoke about our levels of knowledge of the individual players in today’s courtroom drama. There were very few who did not know someone involved. Everyone was unanimous in the fact that their relationships would not impact their ability to be impartial.
After the initial round of innocuous questions things turned a little more personal.
This was a drug case. The defendant was accused of possession with intent to sell. So the next round of questions involved drug histories. “Anyone have a history of drug abuse?” “Your family?” “Arrested for drugs?” “You or family member experience loss due to drugs?”
There were several who stood and shared their circumstances during this portion also. Though this time there were a few who admitted that their experiences would in fact prevent them from being impartial.
Finally we took a break. I was glad. My tiny little girl bladder was on the verge of rupture.
After I visited the facilities (the courthouse has foamy soap) I returned to the mostly empty courtroom. A few others trickled in as well. Still no conversation, so I turned my attention to Backgammon (an app on my phone).
My concentration was soon broken by a familiar voice. Mr. Phone Call was at it again.
“Yes, I’m here. They are having court. Apparently my information was wrong. I was five minutes late. It was embarrassing.”
“Apparently my information was wrong.” She probably said this 5 times. I guess she really wanted the five of us in the room with her to know that being late was not her fault. Someone obviously lied to her and told her there was no court. Yet she showed up anyway. “5 minutes late” was actually more like 45 minutes late, but now I know that it was not her fault.
Our break came to an end and it was time to strike. Each side (prosecution and defense) is given a set number of strikes, which means they can eliminate a potential juror with no challenge from the other side. They gave their strikes (by random number) and then a jury was seated.
Despite the thought that I had a slim chance to make the jury, I did not. I was a little disappointed. I think I looked forward to serving out of purely voyeuristic intent. Alas, ‘twas not to be.
Those of us who were not seated were excused. We filed downstairs to collect our Jury Service Check.
As it turned out I was paid about $7.50 per hour to sit & wait, stand & answer. Not bad work if you can get it.
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