Raise Your Right Hand...
First day of jury service done. I can't say it was the most fun I'd ever had, but, to some extent, it beats dealing with my ninth-graders. Of course, the same can be said for being jabbed in the eye with a red-hot iron poker, so that's not much of a comparison.
The first couple of hours in the jury waiting room were relatively painless. I got a lot of cross stitching done, all to the accompaniment of some amusing podcasts. Of course, there was the mandatory watching of the "Jury Service and You!" video. Quite a bit of propaganda, that. It starts out with some lush, panoramic shots of various scenic locales of our state, majestic music, and then the voice-over exclamation: "California! The greatest state in the union!"
Take that, the rest of you 49!
And what makes California the greatest state in the union? Well, there was no concrete proof to back up our exalted status, but I do believe that...or at least the implication was...Californian jurors! Who knew? I would have thought all the other states also had jurors, but now I guess the rest of ya'll just hold witch-hunt-like proceedings where you strap rock necklaces around defendants and then toss them into some pond out back of your local meeting house.
You live, you learn.
Suddenly cognizant of the fact that I was on the verge of becoming an essential part of the greatness that is California, I was naturally anxious to hear my name intoned as one of the few, the proud, the horrifically underpaid at $15 a day. My wait was a short one and I soon was sent off with 34 of my fellow potential jurors to the fourth floor, the home of Division Y, the lair of Judge Richard A. Meanie-Pants (not his real name...at least, not the "Meanie-Pants" part).
It's a civil trial. Damity, damn, damn, damn, DAMN! I've said it before, I'll say it again, I'll be chanting it for the rest of my life: Civil trials are booooooor-ing! Of course, I am not at liberty to discuss any aspects of the trial, nor would I, since the very idea of calling up what details I do know at this time be an exercise in complete and utter masochism.
Naturally, Judge Richard A. Meanie-Pants went on at great length to remind us of the fact that we mustn't, mustn't, discuss any aspects of the trial, blah, blah, blah. I Googled hiz honor when I got home and didn't find much...except for an article about some case in 2002 that Judge Dickie tossed out because...guess why!...some juror made a little joke about the defendant during deliberations. Jeez! Some jurors! Don't they understand that they are jeopardizing the very thing that makes our state so great?
Actually, when the Great Robed One finished his "Don't Discuss" tirade and asked us all if we understood, I almost piped up with something like, "Can I blog about it? Is blogging considered a form of discussion?" But I didn't. I was good.
So I can't/won't discuss the case (except to predict that it's gonna be really, really booooooor-ing). But I see no reason why I can't discuss the experience thus far, especially my early and, I'm sure, completely unbiased and accurate impression of Judge Richard A. Meanie-Pants. I'm wondering if any of his friends (presuming he has any) ever call him Dick. They should. He is. I'm all for hard-ass officials of the court provided they don't go out of their way to be overly patronizing in that "I am so much smarter than you'll ever be" kinda way...to the jurors! Go ahead and take the lawyers apart if you want...they get paid to take it. But be nice to the jurors, fer crissake. After all, we're the ones who make this state GREAT! Sheesh! Hasn't he seen the video?
We're in the voir dire phrase at this point, each of us assiduously answering the same questions about our ability to be fair and impartial. Most of us said we could, but there were a few who admitted to some doubts. None of these people appeared to be crackpots or potential malingers. One is a psychotherapist who told Gavel-Boy about the fact that her own father had been a victim of an accident similar to the one suffered by the plaintiff, and she thought that it might be difficult for her to put aside her feelings in this case.
"Well," huffed da judge, "I'm surprised at you. You're a professional, aren't you?"
"Why, yes," the potential juror meekly replied.
"And are you telling me that you, as a professional, would be unable to separate your personal feelings from your duty to be fair and impartial in this trial? I mean, in your profession, you need to be able to do that all the time, don't you? Are you saying that you would be unable to do that here, in this courtroom?"
"I just mean that...well, I could, I'm sure...I just thought I should mention that..."
"You seem like an intelligent woman. I just can't believe that you would be so limited as to be unable to put aside your own personal experience in this case."
You know...the completely trivial personal experience this woman had involving her own father who is now spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
I'm assuming that the janitorial crew is going to spend a lot of time tonight mopping the remains of that poor woman up off the floor.
Hiz Honor also spent a lot of time shooting down the attorney for the plaintiff. As I said before, I figure these guys are fair game for the most part. But even I, li'l Miss Hard-Hearted, started to sympathize with the poor schmuck by the end of the day. I gotta give him credit for his restraint. Had it been I, I would have probably been reduced to shooting rubber bands at The Man Behind the Bench. Perhaps I'll bring in a supply just in case. I mean, I don't expect every jurist to be a charm school graduate, but this dude's aura is positively Stygian.
He don't scare me, of course, 'cause I know in my heart that I am part of what makes this state great, so there. Still, I will not be broken hearted if I get excused from the panel-to-be. This trial is supposed to go on for at least two weeks. Two weeks with Judge Dick-Head, in a boooooor-ing civil trial, replete with at least a dozen expert witnesses...*yawn*...That's not exactly how I planned to spend my summer vacation.
We'll see what happens. The one thing that may be in my favor is the fact that this particular jury pool is absolutely lousy with educational professionals. Of the 21 of us that have been questioned so far, there are two college professors, one former first-grade teacher and now current elementary school literary coach, one special-education aide, two grad-students-who-ultimately-want-to-teach, and yours truly. There's always the chance that one or both of the lawyers is still fuming about that nasty World Lit teacher they had in their senior year of high school, the one who kept pestering him to write a more concise thesis statement and avoid using the passive voice, and will choose to exorcise his demons by booting me the hell outta there. Here's hoping! I just hope Califonia's greatness won't suffer.
The first couple of hours in the jury waiting room were relatively painless. I got a lot of cross stitching done, all to the accompaniment of some amusing podcasts. Of course, there was the mandatory watching of the "Jury Service and You!" video. Quite a bit of propaganda, that. It starts out with some lush, panoramic shots of various scenic locales of our state, majestic music, and then the voice-over exclamation: "California! The greatest state in the union!"
Take that, the rest of you 49!
And what makes California the greatest state in the union? Well, there was no concrete proof to back up our exalted status, but I do believe that...or at least the implication was...Californian jurors! Who knew? I would have thought all the other states also had jurors, but now I guess the rest of ya'll just hold witch-hunt-like proceedings where you strap rock necklaces around defendants and then toss them into some pond out back of your local meeting house.
You live, you learn.
Suddenly cognizant of the fact that I was on the verge of becoming an essential part of the greatness that is California, I was naturally anxious to hear my name intoned as one of the few, the proud, the horrifically underpaid at $15 a day. My wait was a short one and I soon was sent off with 34 of my fellow potential jurors to the fourth floor, the home of Division Y, the lair of Judge Richard A. Meanie-Pants (not his real name...at least, not the "Meanie-Pants" part).
It's a civil trial. Damity, damn, damn, damn, DAMN! I've said it before, I'll say it again, I'll be chanting it for the rest of my life: Civil trials are booooooor-ing! Of course, I am not at liberty to discuss any aspects of the trial, nor would I, since the very idea of calling up what details I do know at this time be an exercise in complete and utter masochism.
Naturally, Judge Richard A. Meanie-Pants went on at great length to remind us of the fact that we mustn't, mustn't, discuss any aspects of the trial, blah, blah, blah. I Googled hiz honor when I got home and didn't find much...except for an article about some case in 2002 that Judge Dickie tossed out because...guess why!...some juror made a little joke about the defendant during deliberations. Jeez! Some jurors! Don't they understand that they are jeopardizing the very thing that makes our state so great?
Actually, when the Great Robed One finished his "Don't Discuss" tirade and asked us all if we understood, I almost piped up with something like, "Can I blog about it? Is blogging considered a form of discussion?" But I didn't. I was good.
So I can't/won't discuss the case (except to predict that it's gonna be really, really booooooor-ing). But I see no reason why I can't discuss the experience thus far, especially my early and, I'm sure, completely unbiased and accurate impression of Judge Richard A. Meanie-Pants. I'm wondering if any of his friends (presuming he has any) ever call him Dick. They should. He is. I'm all for hard-ass officials of the court provided they don't go out of their way to be overly patronizing in that "I am so much smarter than you'll ever be" kinda way...to the jurors! Go ahead and take the lawyers apart if you want...they get paid to take it. But be nice to the jurors, fer crissake. After all, we're the ones who make this state GREAT! Sheesh! Hasn't he seen the video?
We're in the voir dire phrase at this point, each of us assiduously answering the same questions about our ability to be fair and impartial. Most of us said we could, but there were a few who admitted to some doubts. None of these people appeared to be crackpots or potential malingers. One is a psychotherapist who told Gavel-Boy about the fact that her own father had been a victim of an accident similar to the one suffered by the plaintiff, and she thought that it might be difficult for her to put aside her feelings in this case.
"Well," huffed da judge, "I'm surprised at you. You're a professional, aren't you?"
"Why, yes," the potential juror meekly replied.
"And are you telling me that you, as a professional, would be unable to separate your personal feelings from your duty to be fair and impartial in this trial? I mean, in your profession, you need to be able to do that all the time, don't you? Are you saying that you would be unable to do that here, in this courtroom?"
"I just mean that...well, I could, I'm sure...I just thought I should mention that..."
"You seem like an intelligent woman. I just can't believe that you would be so limited as to be unable to put aside your own personal experience in this case."
You know...the completely trivial personal experience this woman had involving her own father who is now spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
I'm assuming that the janitorial crew is going to spend a lot of time tonight mopping the remains of that poor woman up off the floor.
Hiz Honor also spent a lot of time shooting down the attorney for the plaintiff. As I said before, I figure these guys are fair game for the most part. But even I, li'l Miss Hard-Hearted, started to sympathize with the poor schmuck by the end of the day. I gotta give him credit for his restraint. Had it been I, I would have probably been reduced to shooting rubber bands at The Man Behind the Bench. Perhaps I'll bring in a supply just in case. I mean, I don't expect every jurist to be a charm school graduate, but this dude's aura is positively Stygian.
He don't scare me, of course, 'cause I know in my heart that I am part of what makes this state great, so there. Still, I will not be broken hearted if I get excused from the panel-to-be. This trial is supposed to go on for at least two weeks. Two weeks with Judge Dick-Head, in a boooooor-ing civil trial, replete with at least a dozen expert witnesses...*yawn*...That's not exactly how I planned to spend my summer vacation.
We'll see what happens. The one thing that may be in my favor is the fact that this particular jury pool is absolutely lousy with educational professionals. Of the 21 of us that have been questioned so far, there are two college professors, one former first-grade teacher and now current elementary school literary coach, one special-education aide, two grad-students-who-ultimately-want-to-teach, and yours truly. There's always the chance that one or both of the lawyers is still fuming about that nasty World Lit teacher they had in their senior year of high school, the one who kept pestering him to write a more concise thesis statement and avoid using the passive voice, and will choose to exorcise his demons by booting me the hell outta there. Here's hoping! I just hope Califonia's greatness won't suffer.