Jury Duty (Part 2)

“For many are called, but few are chosen.”

 I think Jesus said that.

Or maybe it was Mel Torme.

I know it was somebody in show business.

The day’s redundancies had turned to mental exhaustion by noon.

We were shuffled into the courtroom, forty-two prospects aching to be dismissed. A lucky thirty would be sent back to the sanctuary of home, bar or work.

The attorneys were briefed with all of our information beforehand. Name, occupation, address and spouse’s name and occupation. We had filled that out on the form they’d given us in the mail and handed it in upon arrival.

Before entering the courtroom however, we were given a sheet which, again, had these questions on it. After being seated alphabetically we were then asked to rise and repeat this information in front of the court.

We had been sworn in prior, in the jury waiting room, and attested to the truthfulness of this information. The recitation of these same facts once more served absolutely no purpose that I am aware of. It embarrassed many. It made people have to publicly confirm their unemployment, spouse’s disability, shitty area of residence or details of their lives that, if not asked by the attorneys directly, would have remained unbeknownst to those who had no business “beknownsting” it in the first place.

It was an invasion of the privacy that the court otherwise took great pains to maintain. People are prone to over-share however. I was shocked at the amount of irrelevant blather that came pouring out of their mouths when asked a simple question. An attorney would ask someone about the day to day duties of their job and we’d end up hearing about their father’s cataract surgery and how “Uncle Phil” died in the war.

These are the times when my inner jagoff wants to take the stage.

“I’m Loathsome Jim McTeague”, I would cry as I arose, “And I am a serial rapist. I live under a highway overpass with a border collie named Rolf and a parrot that goes by ‘Fat Sam’. My wife’s name was Gladys but she’s no longer with us because I strangled the lying, manipulative bitch to death.”

After the roll call we sat and answered the lawyer’s follow-up questions, primarily en masse by a raising of hands. There were a few people singled out for particulars but it was done tastefully and without too much embarrassment.

We then broke for lunch.

As I was not hungry I decided to visit the Museum of Art located across the street. The featured exhibition was a collection of sketches by Da Vinci; mostly horses, human musculature and a few multipurpose screw-like contraptions. Ruminating over the man’s obvious genius I began to realize an absolute truth. If it came down to the human race depending on my insight, intellect and fortitude, we would still be working on the design of the wheel and living in marshes and caves.

I also had another revelation there in the museum. While contrasting the grand style of the masterful Da Vinci with my travails in the courtroom earlier that day a profound epiphany came to me, but I was distracted by a woman with big tits and forgot what it was.

Back at the courtroom, the selection process got underway with both legal teams taking turns dismissing the potential jurors they felt would hurt their case.

I should mention here that the case was a civil suit dealing with a man who was suing a woman for hitting him with her car. As the lawyers continued dismissing people I really began to feel the need of not sitting on this jury due to a prejudice I knew I would bring to the trial. It wasn’t anything as nefarious as race hate or sexual bias. No, it was the fact that the male plaintiff continued nodding off during the dismissal process, right in front of everyone. I mean, shit, if you can’t stay awake for what amounts to the most important day of your life in recent memory, how the fuck am I suppose to buy into the legitimacy of your claim. I know I was supposed to brush that aside and look at only the facts but, c’mon, if HE doesn’t even take it that seriously, how the hell can I?

Thankfully, I was one of the thirty who was released.

A homunculus violin player from the local symphony had bonded with me during the process and we both felt that we were excused because, as he put it, “We are artist types. They never choose artist types. You’re a writer, right? I’m a violinist. There you are.”

And I believed him. I thought perhaps stating my profession as a writer would somehow affect most lawyers into dismissing me out of hand due to negative stories that could be published after the trial. Writers were always dismissed weren’t they? Not only for the publicity problem they posed but because, quite frankly, most of us have very poor judgment anyway. Why else would we get into something as soul draining as writing for a living? This idea, I would realize in the coming days, was absolute folly.

The violinist’s theory would explode in his face as well.

We were destined to meet again under more trying circumstances.

NEXT:

Day 2: The Reckoning

Comments

[Jenn H]

Chip! You fucking troglodyte!

[C. Adolph Moores]

Dearest Jenn,
Have you remarried yet?
I know a neutered, masochistic Milquetoast whom you could make so happy.
By the way, you owe me $500 on the eight month "under" wager on your first marriage, Zsa Zsa.

Ta Daahling,
C.

[Jenn]

Dearest Cunt,

A neutered, masochistic, milquetoast? Who might this be?

I love how everyone had such high expectations for my marriage

But then,

you always knew best

P.S. I am still married, so technically, I owe you nada

loves-

jenn