You're probably expecting me to say that I learned about the American justice system, that guilt and innocence are not always absolutes, and that the courthouse desperately needs a better coffee shop. But the biggest lesson I learned from four weeks of jury duty is that people really want to get out of jury duty. Bad.
I was fascinated by the lengths some people will go to in their determination to get out of serving on a jury. If any of them would stop and think about it for a second, they would realize it's one of the easiest ways to get out of your daily grind job with zero risk of getting fired. The day is not just short, it's courthouse-short. The breaks are long and often. You get an hour and a half for lunch. You are the most out-of-the-loop people in the building, so while all the important decisions are made, you get to wait in the hallway and read the book that you brought. (You brought a book, didn't you?) Every time you turn around there's a holiday to observe. Wherever you work - and I mean wherever - you're going to work harder and longer than when you're on a jury.
So what's up with the things people will do and say to get out of such hell?
It's not like they're forcing you to do it. That would be kidnapping and I'm pretty sure that's illegal. They give you several layers of outs, starting with when you get the first notice in the mail. You're allowed to call the court and say that it's not really the best time and they'll say, OK, would you like to reschedule? And you go, Sure. And they go, When? And you get to pick a week, any week in the future that you want.
Then when you show up on the first day they will send you home right then if you have young children to take care of, elderly parents, if you're a student, if you can't really miss work without something bad happening, if you have nonrefundable plane tickets, or if you have a health issue that might preclude you from sitting still without going to the bathroom for 90 minutes at a time. The list of immediate dismissals is long and only limited by your lack of imagination.
As an added bonus, right before voir dire officially begins, the judge reads a list of witnesses and people involved in the case and says that if you know any of these people personally, you can bail. The list is pretty long and is likely to include names like "Matt Johnson" and "Carol Smith," so you have that opportunity.
And at that point, you're left with people who really have no excuse and should just suck it up and serve on the damn jury.
But does that happen? No. No, it does not.
You have more than 100 people who are all holding onto the life raft of hope that they can get out of jury duty. And the life raft is actually a pool noodle that's been in the garage too long and is starting to disintegrate.
Based on my experience this month, here are a couple of reasons why you can't get excused from jury duty:
- You were the victim of a violent crime one time before. Not even if you were the victim of a crime very similar to this one. And having someone grab your laptop and run, causing you to tussle and fall down a set of stairs - as horrible and unfortunate as that sounds (some of us winced) - is not going to get you out of jury duty. You are expected to get over that and get on with your civic duty-filled life.
- You got a speeding ticket and thought the cop was a little bit of a dick and the whole incident left you with the general impression that cops are egotistical and not very flexible.
- You served on a jury once before and couldn't reach a verdict and the whole experience left you with the impression that court is a frustration-filled time suck.
- Your roommate is in law school.
- Some guy you dated is in law school.
The only thing that's going to guarantee your dismissal at this point of voir dire is if you admit to being an asshole. You have to say the words, "I know right from wrong, I'm of sound mind and I can understand basic instructions, and I might do the right thing, but I can't really say for sure. I might refuse to follow the jury instructions and eff this whole trial up, because I'm a racist / misogynist / caveman who wants to send all the wrong people to prison to make a point. Who knows what I'll do? Anything could happen."
It's interesting to watch people's faces as they're slowly backed into that corner by the judge. These potential jurors arrived in court that morning determined to get out of this and a couple of them were pretty cocky about it. They had probably practiced their superior attitudes in the mirror that morning. But this isn't the judge's first rodeo and he's going to make you sweat and admit to some pretty lame character traits.
The judge, in essence, says: "So remember when I explained how your job as jury really doesn't require any opinion at all. It doesn't matter what you think of the defendant personally or what you think of people from his neighborhood or of his race or age or occupation. If the prosecution proves its case, then you find him guilty. If it doesn't, you find him not guilty. Do you think you can do that?" He is handing you the word yes on a silver platter. With parsley and a fancy curled lemon rind.
Juror: "Well, Hmmmmm . . . I . . . I really can't say for sure what I'd do. I'd . . . Um - "
Judge: "So are you saying that even if everything proves that Mr. McCringleberry did not commit this crime, you might turn to your fellow jurors and vote guilty anyway because your boss at Wendy's in college had similar glasses and his name started with an M?"
Juror: "Ggggggg haaaah. . ."
She'll get back to you on that, right after the break.