This week has been a full one. I had some dental work done, got a FABULOUS and much needed massage, got high post-op marks at the hip doctor, worked a few hours with my peeps at the assisted living facility, and, of course, dropped off my jug 'o pee at the lab. But the high point of the week was on Monday with a call to jury duty.
Now some people may revile the prospect of serving on a jury. To participating in the cattle call of citizens at all. I, however, don't mind. Like voting, we can't have our comments on a situation taken seriously without actively participating in the process. Besides, I believe wholeheartedly that our process of justice, while flawed, is the best of all possible options, and it won't work without the participation of citizens. We are the backbone of our justice system and have the responsibility, in my opinion, to hold up our end of it. So while scheduling around the call to duty is stressful and quite frankly a pain in the neck, the service itself is not. So I carefully reviewed the bus schedule, updated my ipod, packed a lunch and off I went on Monday morning bound for the Jackson County courthouse in downtown Kansas City.
I LOVE taking the bus. No parking woes, no traffic worries, no personal carbon footprint, and lots of blog-worthy subject matter to observe and enjoy. I don't know what it is about bus transport that makes it basically the same no matter what city you are in. There's always the crazy homeless-looking man talking to himself or others (whether in his head or actually physically seated around him), business people trying to ignore him, and small groups of regular riders catching up on what has happened in their lives since they saw each other last. Being a veteran of bus riding in San Francisco, I am always pleased to board the KC metro bus and not having the smell of urine and strange foreign food-stuffs greet me as I climb aboard.
The bus dropped me smack in front of the courthouse and I ambled up the steps to the one door that was available to enter. After emptying the electronic devices from my purse and watching it all go through the xray machine (note to the shoe bombers out there - they do not make you take off your footwear at the KC courthouse), I proceed through the metal detector. I, of course, set the thing off, but forget that whether I strip down to my skivvies or not my hips will receive the dreaded beep of doom. I show that I'm not wearing a belt nor any large jewelry, and then remember that, oh yeah, I have two fake hips! So I get the wand treatment and a bit of an attitude from the security woman who seemed to have a bit of seething indifference brewing just below the surface of her minimally pleasant demeanor. Convinced that I am not harboring a concealed weapon of any kind, and no doubt wanting to alleviate the ever growing back up at the xray machine, she lets me go. I pack up my purse and proceed to the jury holding area.
All of us prospective jurors receive a short questionnaire (name, address, occupation, age, etc.), a little pencil and we are sent off to find a seat in the corral full of rows of chairs that are attached to the floor facing a judge's Bench set up straight out of an episode of Perry Mason. The first lesson of the day was that some people cannot get themselves somewhere on time even when that time is court dictated. The head jury wrangler took a seat at the Bench and gave us all a speech about the justice system, how much they appreciate our service, apologizing for the legislature mandated $6 pay per day that we are entitled to, and a basic outline of what we can expect for the day. I was a little surprised that the group as a whole was quite well behaved and attentive. Perhaps I underestimated the cross section of Kansas City that I expected to meet. Perhaps my opinion of people in general as lazy, reality TV watching, ill mannered, self centered, irresponsible lemmings was too harsh. I'm still working on that. One trip through the passenger side of the justice system does not a society redeem. As slightly shown by the line of bodies that waited to explain to the judge why they were not qualified to sit on a jury. The criteria was clearly laid out by said judge without alot of wiggle room...or so I thought. Of course the gentleman dressed in fatigues fit the "no active duty military" criteria, and the gentleman with the surgical mask over is nose and mouth probably fit the "medical condition" out, though I wouldn't contest him on it anyway. The woman wearing what looked like one leg of a pair of pantyhose on her head also got excused by the judge and I don't even want to know what her situation was. But by and large one by one the people from the line returned to a chair with the rest of us after they pleaded their case to the judge. I have to believe he's heard every excuse in the book by now and has a rather tough, though pleasant, stand on such things.
I and 19 of my closest friends proceeded up to the 4th floor to the appropriately designated room and waited in the hall. I'm realizing now that if there are only 20 of us, chances are pretty good that I'll be sitting on this jury. It wasn't until later in the process that our judge informed us that they would only be picking a jury of 6 for this case making my odds a little better. But for the time being I was looking around at the cross section of society that I'm a part of thinking I may be stuck with these people for a while. They looked like a nice enough bunch. One of everything so it seemed. I give the process high marks on their random sampling. And again, as we sat making idle chit-chat, perusing our chosen electronic devices, or thumbing through select reading materials, I wondered whether my opinion of society in general was too harsh. And then we were herded into the courtroom and the intolerant judgemental side of me returned like an old friend...
I could tell instantly as we walked into the room who the defendant and who the prosecution was. Of course the defendant was guilty. He looked like a cocky idiot who didn't know that you don't wear jeans to court when you're being sued. He couldn't string a sentence together without a bucketful of um's and er's and his grammar? Don't get me started. He hadn't actually opened his mouth at all, but my psychic abilities evaluated the situation so he didn't have to. Moving on to the prosecution, she was a piece of work as well. Primly but stylishly dressed, lots of papers, taking her glasses on and off and looking slightly nervous while trying to maintain a confident demeanor. She was obviously representing herself which led me to believe, while keeping a total open and non-judgemental mind, that she was a pain in the ass who the idiot in the jeans shouldn't have messed with.
As it turns out this was a case where the uninsured idiot crashed his car into the pain in the asses property and he wouldn't take responsibility for the expenses she incurred. The 12-year old ambulance chaser representing the idiot, and the pain in the ass asked us questions as a group to which we held up a laminated card with our juror number on it if we agreed. Basically we all answered the same way - yes, we'd been in an car accident. Yes, we could be impartial. No, we didn't know the defendant, the 12 year old ambulance chaser, or the pain in the ass with the glasses. Then we got herded out into the hallway to wait until all parties in the courtroom agreed on the 6 sorry souls who would decide the case.
Long story less long, 10 minutes later I was on the street walking to the bus stop. I don't know why I didn't get picked. Could they read my mind? Did they find something I was thinking somehow distasteful? Or was it some information on my questionnaire? Is there a vast conspiracy against married college educated homemakers with no children at home? I contemplated that on the fresh smelling bus ride home since there was no crazy homeless man to distract me. At least I know that I have done my civic duty and am not eligible to be called for another 3 years. I wonder what stereotypes I can generate between now and then...
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