Jury Duty (Part 3)

“We are in bondage to the law in order that we may be free.”

                                           - Marcus Tullius Cicero

 O sweet Cicero, you were a wise and learned man!

 That bit of oxymoronic wisdom is courtesy of one of the most respected orators, linguists and prose stylists of Ancient Rome, the big daddy (the magnus pater if you will) in the patriarchy of empire.

What it’s doing on the front of the Criminal Court Building in downtown Birmingham, Alabama is a bit of irony that was not lost on your humble author, my dear readers.

For my first day’s dismissal did not lead me to the comforts of hearth and home. On my exit I was met by a fetching Clerk of the Court who said most beamingly, “We’ll see you tomorrow!”

Quite sure she did not mean that her and I would be meeting for cocktails the next day, I shot back, “Excuse me?”

“Tomorrow, nine a.m.”, she insisted, “We’ll see you right back here.”

Jesus Mortimer Christ. That’s why they gave us parking passes through Thursday.

With my first experience of jury duty back in Florida, if you were dismissed, that was it. Game over. You’re civic duty was done. Go get a drink. Thanks for playing. Here’s the home version of our game.

But not here. No. Not in Alabama. They not only dissolve your mind and will; they steal a part of your soul as well.

Four fucking days. Waiting… in a deadly lottery where your chance of escaping unharmed grew smaller and smaller as the time dragged on. Some despaired. Some tore at their hair and abdomens. There was a great gnashing of teeth and wailings unlike anything I have ever heard from man or beast.

Do not tell me I don’t know what Vietnam was like.

I must admit, however, that this weeklong arrangement is certainly effective in limiting the number of crackpots from declaring they are racists, homophobes, anti-corporation, anti-lawyer or suffer from any other prejudicial maladies on day one and getting away with it.

Even if you do hate subgroups (my personal list is quite extensive) you have to drag your ass down there again the next day to proclaim the same and await your next dismissal. You save no time or hassle by being an asshole. As an anti-corporate, anti-lawyer, elitist jackoff myself, I realized this quite swiftly.

My homunculus violin friend from the symphony and I accepted our fate and decided we would be glad to serve on a case. Hell, it beat sitting in that waiting room hours on end babbling indirectly to others via someone’s running commentary on the images and sounds pouring out from the TV set.

“Did Barbara just call Whoopi a dyke?!”

“When they come for me, I want you to get this message to my wife.”

“Why didn’t that asshole buy a fucking vowel?!”

“I think there’s a little bit of that Iowa farm boy in each one of us. I do.”

“Man, applesauce has sure lost favor as a dessert, eh?”

And those were some of the more coherent, on-point comments I overheard.

The Jascha Heifetz of Central Alabama and I were summoned again to stand in line, count off and follow our bailiff up six floors where we went through the introduction process once more.

It was also a civil case involving a car accident where a gentleman was suing his own insurance company for failure to pay benefits regarding his lost job, future income, and pain and suffering through his underinsured motorist clause.

These types of cases (civil suit/car accident) must be the most numerous in our legal system as I am three for three with them in my now seasoned experience as a potential juror. No fascinating crime dramas for me to untangle, no. No heroic deeds by me toward a better society in putting away a nefarious murderer. Nope. No drug cartels, no kidnappings, no white slavery rings, no prostitution charges, no vice or fun whatsoever. Fender benders with a few aches and pains. That’s going to be my judicial legacy.

We all admitted that we had no previous interaction with the principals in the case and that none of us had any preconceived bias toward the manipulative, lying, bloodless, fear-mongering shits of the insurance industry. I also have little respect for shiftless ambulance chasers and their goldbricking, “lawsuit lottery” seeking clients. The readings on my revilement meter were about even. I should make a great juror.

The Isaac Stern of the Bible belt was with me. He had been through a similar scenario with his wife and All State and also lied about having no preconceived opinions on insurance companies.

“They aren’t always on the up and up,” he shared with me, winking conspiratorially. Or maybe he was coming on to me. I don’t know. I’ve got that sort of allure that engages both the sexes.

“No shit?!” I questioned.

“That’s right”, he said, “And I should know…”

Yo-Yo Manischewitz proceeded to share with me the gruesome and tedious details of his wife’s accident which I think included her everchanging shoe sizes and their problems with “loss of consortium”.

Yikes.

He was a good sort though. Affable, quick with a chuckle or gag, self-deprecating and one of the few Sons of David you are ever going to meet on a jury panel in the middle of Alabama.

He was one of the Chosen People.

As it turned out, for matters of the court, I was too.

We were both called to serve and render judgment.

Who knows, I thought, maybe he’d invite me over for Seder after all this blew over.

Next:

The Judgment Cometh.

Comments

[Piney Jay]

What?! Am I chopped liver?

Yitzhak Pearlman

[Jenn]

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